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MAKERS    OF    SONG 


MAKERS   OF   SONG 


BY 


ANNA  ALICE   CHAPIN 

Author    of   "Masters   of   Music,' 
•'The  Story  of  the  Rhinegoi 


NEW    YORK 

DODD,    MEAD    AND    COMPANY 

1912 


COPYHIGHT,     1904 

Bt  Dodd,    Mead  and  CoMPAinr 

\ 

Published,   October,   1904 


TO 

flDabamc  XiUian  IRorbica 


WITH  THE  author's  GRATEFUL,  REMEM= 


BRANCE    OF    HER    MANY    AND 

GRACIOUS   KINDNESSES 

THIS    BOOK    IS    DEDICATED. 


?» 


CHAPTKR 
I. 

CONTENTS 

The  Singer  of  Love 

PAGE 

1 

II. 

In  Praise  of  the  Lady  of  Fayel 

25 

III. 

The  Dreamers 

49 

IV. 

The  Monk  of  Reading  Abbey 

65 

V. 

King  Thibault,  the  Troubadour 

83 

VI. 

The  Hunchback  of  Arras 

109 

VII. 

With  the  Castanets 

131 

VIII. 

A  Maker  of  Songs  and  Shoes 

155 

IX. 

Maitre    Guedron,    a    Teacher    of 

Kings 

175 

X. 

The  Wandering  People 

191 

XI. 

The  Casket  of  Grapes 

207 

XII. 

The  Scullion  of  La  Grande  Made- 

moiselle 

229 

XIII. 

The  Runos  of  the  Northland 

257 

XIV. 

The  Romance  of  Stradella 

277 

XV. 

Purcell:   Master  of  Musick 

293 

XVI. 

Songs  of  the  Great  Terror 

315 

An  After-word 

333 

THE  SINGER  OF  LOVE 


LARK   SONG 


i 


^w^ 


5= 


n^ 


-4- 


I 


b    I* 


When  1      be-  hold,  on     ea  -  ger    wing,  The  sky-lark 
I**;.    I    L— i --^rr-    L r**a: 


H* m> 


aJK L 


:t:^=l==tt 


«.-SZ»z 


soar-ing    to     the     sun,       Till,  e'en  with  rap  -  tare 


# 


l,(^)r-j  j;^33j--j— ^ 


* — J= 


-^s — 


lal     -     ter  -  ing,    He      sinks     in     glad     ob  -  liv  -  1  - 


&==F 


-1=^-^- 


zat-^'-J-wt 


W^^ 


-^- 


-1- 


-    on:      A  -  las  1 . . .  How  fain  to  seek  were   1,  The  same  ec  - 


f 


-i H 


3B=:it 


JC?jE±22 


J     f9s-:SL 


■    stat-ic    fate    of fire;    Yea,  of   a  truth  1  know  not 


-I  1 


n— r 


s:^^=S= 


s:r~z 


why       my      heart  melts  not    with    its   de    -    sirej 


THE  SINGER  OF  LOVE 


NOW  the  Castle  of  Ventadour,  in  Limousin,  Provence, 
was  a  goodly  place  and  a  fair.  Indeed  it  would  be 
hard  to  fancy  a  more  rarely  perfect  spot  in  which  to 
be  born  and  to  come  to  manhood,  and  its  poetic  loveli- 
ness spurred  the  inspiration,  as  it  filled  the  daily  life, 
of  the  boy  Bernart. 

The  hamlet  of  Moustier  Ventadour  may  still  be  seen. 
A  league  and  a  half  east  of  Egletons  it  is,  and  the 
ruins  of  the  Castle  are  a  quarter  of  a  mile  farther  on. 
The  ruins  of  Ventadour !  It  is  as  sorrowful  an  image 
as  that  of  faded  roses  or  dead  youth:  alas,  that  even 
Ventadour  should  have  known  the  destructive  touch  of 
time! 

But  at  the  period  of  which  I  write, — the  early  half 
of  the  twelfth  century, — it  was  a  splendid  pile  set  high 
upon  a  hill,  in  a  country  of  wild  and  pictiiresque 
beauty.  Crowding  about  the  stone  walls,  every  kind  of 
tree  possible  to  Proven^-al  soil  lifted  its  heavy  leafage 
to  the  warm  blue  sky,  and  afforded  nesting-space  to 
the  swallows  and  nightingales,  the  ring-doves  and 
larks,  that  made  that  region  melodious. 


4  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

From  his  earliest  childhood  Bernart  loved  his  lyri- 
cal brothers,  the  birds.  But  of  all  the  feathered  things 
that  trilled  and  fluttered  among  the  pines  and  larches 
and  silver  birches,  the  one  whose  song  awakened  the 
tendercst  and  most  responsive  chord  in  the  boy's  heart 
was  the  skylark.  Upon  this  same  joyous  bird  was 
written  his  most  exquisite  lyric,  many  years  later, — 
the  simple  and  graceful  Lark  Song  known  to  every 
lover  of  the  Proven9als. 

Imagine  a  garden  where  forget-me-nots  and  clover, 
roses  and  hemp,  grew  wildly  and  sweetly  together. 
Fancy  a  fragrant  luxuriance  of  blackthorn,  ivy,  ever- 
greens, lilacs,  and  locust-trees.  Picture  mossy  rocks, 
and  great  tangles  of  wild-flowers  and  blackberry- 
vines; — and  you  may  guess,  albeit  dimly, — the 
enchantment  of  Ventadour.  Under  a  great  chestnut- 
tree  stood  a  stone  crucifix, — hundreds  of  years  old, 
even  then !  And  back  of  the  Castle  was  the  big  deli- 
cious garden.  It  was  walled  by  parapets  that  crowned 
sharp  precipices  and  made  the  garden  entirely  inac- 
cessible from  without. 

Shadowed  by  a  tall  blue-green  pine-tree  was  the  pa- 
vilion, or  summer-house, — where  my  lady  might  sit  at 
her  embroidery-frames,  or,  dreaming  idly,  watch  the 
misty  distance  from  her  lofty  garden-space.  Every- 
where creeping  vines  abounded,  overgrowing  every- 
thing,— ^the  pavilion,  the  parapets,  and  the  walls  of 
the   Castle.      Everywhere  flowers   starred  the   green. 


THE  SINGER  OF  LOVE  6 

and  the  hosts  of  rapturous  birds  sang  and  darted 
unendingly   beneath   the   sun-gilded   clouds. 

In  Ventadour,  about  the  year  1125,  was  bom  he 
whom  the  world  hails  as  Bernart  de  Ventadorn. 

A  mystery  shadows  the  birth  of  3'oung  Bernart  de 
Ventadorn.  Even  in  his  lifetime  there  were  few 
who  knew,  or  at  least  avowed,  the  truth.  There 
are  those  who  say  that  he  was  an  unacknowledged 
member  of  the  Ventadorn  family, — the  patrons  whose 
name  he  bore.  These  same  persons  declare  that  it 
was  this  fact  which  made  Ebles  III.  Vicomte  de 
Ventadorn  so  friendly  in  his  favours  to  the  bo}^ 
Others  state  that  his  mother  was  a  serving-wench 
who  gathered  brushwood  to  feed  the  great  bake- 
ovens  of  the  Castle,  and  his  father  one  of  the 
lower  servants,  who  marched  as  a  common  archer, 
when  the  Vicomte's  men  were  called  to  arms. 
However  this  may  have  been,  it  seems  a  matter  of 
small  import  to-day.  The  greatness  of  Bernart — sur- 
named  de  Ventadorn,  after  his  benefactor  Ebles  III., 
Vicomte  de  \  cntadorn, — could  not  be  made  nor  marred 
by  a  mere  accident  of  birth.  Let  us  not  trouble  our 
minds  with  the  antecedents  of  this  most  wonderful 
boy.  It  is  enough  that  he  was  the  favourite  of 
Ebles  III.,  and  that  through  his  kindness  the  boy 
was  educated  as  befitted  a  gentleman  of  that  period. 
The  Vicomte  loved  music,  luckily,  and  Bernart's  rare 
gift  of  song  was  fostered  and  developed  until  he  be- 


6  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

came  known  throughout  Provence  as  Bernart  le 
Chanteur  (Bernart  the  Singer).  And  he  was  most 
grateful,  and  loved  Ebles  well ;  and,  as  he  grew  pro- 
ficient in  the  lyric  art,  he  sang  to  him  by  the  hour, 
charming  the  Vicomte's  ears  with  the  melody  of  his 
golden  voice. 

The  Vicomte  Ebles,  we  gather,  was  a  fine  and  gen- 
erous knight,  of  rare  breadth  and  vigour  of  mind,  and 
graced  with  a  heart  that  was  clean  alike  of  deception 
and  distrust.  In  people  and  things  the  quality  which 
pleased  him  best  was  energy.  This  trait  was  curiously 
and  quaintly  expressed  by  the  Prior  of  Vigeois,  who 
said  of  him:  ''Usque  ad  senectam  carmina  alacritatis 
dilexit  (He  loved,  even  to  his  old  age,  the  songs  of 
alacrity  ) ." 

Certain  chroniclers  tell  us  that  our  Bernart, 
brought  up  in  the  accepted  theory  of  his  inferiority  in 
birth,  suffered  keenly  from  a  sense  of  humiliation,  and 
grieved  because  he  belonged  to  his  gorgeous  environ- 
ment by  privilege  rather  than  right.  According 
to  the  conception  of  the  boy's  character  based 
upon  his  life  and  songs,  it  is  difficult  to  believe 
this.  If  he  permitted  himself  any  sentiments  of  sad- 
ness on  account  of  his  obscure  origin,  assuredly 
they  were  transient.  Bernart  was  a  son  of  the  south, 
and  his  griefs  and  annoyances,  if  poignant,  were 
fleeting. 

He  loved  romance  and  beauty  and  joy  as  he  loved 


THE  SINGER  OF  LOVE  7 

the  air  he  breathed,  and  the  mellow  Proven9al  sun  be- 
neath which  he  grew  to  manhood.  With  the  pallid 
ecstasies  and  sentimental  woes  affected  by  lesser  Trou- 
veres  he  would  have  nothing  to  do.  He  had  no  patience 
with  false  melancholy,  though  his  sensitive  and  poetic 
heart  could  know  the  depths  of  genuine  suffering. 
His  deepest  fault  was  his  headlong  and  unreasoning 
impetuosity.  What  he  wished  he  would  have  gone  down 
to  Hades  to  claim ! 

No  one  was  ever  born  with  the  love  of  life  so  keenly 
inherent ;  no  one  ever  throbbed  more  vitally  and  re- 
sponsively  to  the  appeals  of  sentiment,  poetry,  and 
passion.  He  was  educated  in  a  monastic  school,  but 
the  religious  life  neither  attracted  nor  interested  him. 
He  chafed  within  the  austere  walls,  where  the  good 
monks  taught  him  such  meagre  rudiments  of 
knowledge  as  were  accounted  culture  in  those  days. 
Only  one  thing  did  he  really  care  to  study,  and  that 
was  music.  Verse-making  was  as  instinctive  and  spon- 
taneous with  him  as  singing  is  to  birds ;  but  the  use 
of  his  own  voice,  and,  above  all,  the  correct  manner  of 
playing  the  instruments  of  the  period, — these  things 
seemed  to  him  worth  learning.  He  accordingly  ap- 
plied himself  to  the  study  of  minstrelsy.  He  learned 
to  touch  the  harp,  viellc,  and  lute  with  a  master  hand, 
and  to  sing  like  the  skylark  he  adored.  He  learned 
to  put  down  his  eager  dreams  and  rapturous  fancies  in 
notes  as  well  as  words,     And  the  poems  and  melodies 


8  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

which  he  made  have  lost  neither  fire  nor  beauty  after 
nearly  eight  centuries. 

From  boyhood  he  had  but  one  theme  for  all  his 
songs — love.  He  cared  nothing  for  warfare,  nor  the 
church,  nor  politics,  nor  merry-making.  Romance 
was  his  dream,  his  inspiration,  and  his  compelling 
motive.  And  it  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that,  among 
all  those  poets  who,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  have 
followed  in  his  footsteps,  there  is  not  one  who  has  ever 
surpassed  his  standard  in  love  lyrics. 

He  sang  of  the  tenderness  and  faith  and  fervour  of 
all  lovers ;  the  adoration  of  the  Troubadour  for  the  fair 
one  who  inspired  his  songs ;  the  devotion  of  the  lady 
to  the  knight  who  fought  for  her ;  the  loves  of  goat- 
herds and  shepherdesses ;  the  wooing  of  birds  and 
flowers ;  the  mating  of  nature ;  the  passion  of  the  ele- 
ments ;  the  eternal  smile,  sigh  and  sob  of  universal 
love.      So  is  he  well  called  the  Singer  of  Love. 

Nowhere  in  the  world  was  it  easier  to  fashion  love- 
songs  than  in  Limousin.  If  the  speech  of  Picardy  was 
silver,  the  speech  of  Provence  was  of  molten  gold. 
If  the  Chatelain  de  Coucy,  whom  we  shall  meet  later, 
sang  of  the  white  blossomed  spring,  Bernart  de  Venta- 
dorn  was  not  only  the  celebrator,  but  the  incarnation, 
of  the  rich  Southern  summer.  Even  in  winter  his  tem- 
perament and  fancy  created  a  poetical  summer. 
While  the  land  was  frozen  and  snow-encrusted  he  wrote 
one  of  his  most  delicious  songs : 


THE  SINGER  OF  LOVE  9 

'"So  filled  with  happiness  am  I 

Earth  wears  another  face  ; 
Rich  flowers  of  many  a  brilliant  dye 

For  me  the  frost  displace  ; 
When  rains  descend  and  tempests  fly 

My  joy  but  gains  in  grace. 
They  only  help  my  song  rise  high 

My  glory  mount  apace  ; 
For  in  my  loving  heart 

So  sweetly  joy  doth  start, 
Meseems  the  flowers  make  ice  depart. 

To  verdure  snow  gives  place!" 

When  Bernart  was  about  twenty-three,  and  in  the 
first  flush  of  his  genius  as  of  his  youth,  the  Vicomte 
Eblcs  took  to  wife  the  radiant  Vicomtesse  de  Limoges. 
As  a  girl,  the  name  of  Margarida  de  Turenne  was 
known  far  and  wide  as  being  significant  of  all  beauty. 
As  the  young  wife  of  Aimar  IV.,  of  Limoges,  Marga- 
rida was  considered  even  more  marvellously  lovely. 
When  the  Vicomte  de  Limoges  died  and  left  her  a 
youthful  and  charming  widow,  she  wasted  no  undue 
time  in  regrets.  Mock  mourning  was  unpleasant  to 
her  lightly  emotional  nature,  and  she  had  not  loved  her 
husband  so  well  as  to  have  difficulty  in  finding  consola- 
tion. Within  a  year  of  his  death  she  married  Ebles 
de  Ventadorn.  She  was  many  years  younger  than  he, 
and  as  fascinating  as  she  was  weak  and  frivolous. 
To  Ventadour  she  came  like  a  gorgeous  flower,  a  re- 

'Translation  by  Justin  H.  Smith. 


10  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

splendid  jewel,  or  rare  and  many-hued  bird.  And 
one  and  all  bowed  down  before  her  brilliant,  vanquish- 
ing beauty,  and  adored  the  tips  of  her  embroidered 
shoes. 

First  and  greatest  among  her  conquests  was  the 
young  Troubadour  of  her  husband's  court,  Bernart 
the  Singer. 

In  Margarida  he  found  the  ideal  of  all  his  songs  and 
all  his  dreams.  He  had  sung  of  love, — here  was  Love 
personified  of  which  to  sing.  He  worshipped  beauty, — 
where  could  a  man  find  beauty  such  as  this.?  He 
adored  romance, — here  was  Romance  come  to  earth  in 
the  guise  of  a  lovely  woman.  Margarida  was  not  only 
beautiful,  she  had  wit  of  a  valueless,  sparkling  order, 
and,  as  her  nature  was  easily  stirred  and  superficially 
poetic,  it  is  small  wonder  that  she  captivated  the  young 
minstrel.  He  made  songs  for  her  by  day  and  night, 
songs  that  were  iridescent  with  sentiments  and  visions, 
and  charming  with  whimsical  fancies, — songs  that 
caused  the  Vicomte  Ebles  to  applaud  with  frank  de- 
light, and  that  moved  the  heart  of  the  lady  with  grati- 
fied vanity  and  pleasurable  excitement. 

Her  beauty,  we  are  told,  was  of  the  sort  to  strike 
men  dumb.  To  Bernart,  however,  it  gave  a  new  and 
more  melodious  utterance.  He  called  her  "Bel  Vezer 
(Fair-To-See)."  So  was  she  mentioned  in  his  songs, 
and  so  did  he  call  her  softly  in  speaking  to  his  own 
heart. 


THE  SINGER  OF  LOVE  11 

'"It  is  no  wonder  if  I  sing 
A  better  song  than  all  the  rest, — " 

he  wrote  one  day: 

"For  Love  is  mightier  in  my  breast. 
My  life  a  fitter  offering  ; 
For  heart  and  body. 
Mind  and  sense, 

Are  given  to  Love,  and  all  my  might ; 
Nor  can  I  turn  to  left  or  right 
The  rein  toward  Love  is  drawn  so  tense!" 

It  was  in  the  same  song  that  he  made  jesting  pro- 
test against  his  lad3^'s  hard  heart : 

"You're  neither  bear  nor  lion — quite. 
To  kill  me,  if  I  cease  defence?" 

Bernart,  says  Fauriel,  possessed  "a  fine  ear,  a  sweet 
voice,  a  Hvely  and  dehcate  imagination."  And  one 
liistorian  declares  that  he  had  the  three  quahfications 
for  winning  affection  which  are  so  exphcitly  stated 
by  Blondel  the  Minstrel :  "Sincere  love,  generosity, 
and  a  courtly  speech."  We  also  learn  from  many 
sources  that  he  was  of  goodly  presence,  though  not 
tall,  and  that  he  was  graced  with  dark,  penetrating  and 
very  beautiful  eyes,  a  charming  smile  and  a  magnetic 
personality.  He  dressed  with  the  extreme  care  and 
the  eye  to  the  artistic  which  was  affected  by  the  great 
Troubadours  of  the  day,  and  had  notably  good  man- 

■Translated  by  Justin  H.  Smith. 


12  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

ners,  even  in  that  ceremonious  period.  Whatever  he 
attempted  he  did  v/ell :  he  rode  superbly,  and  acquitted 
himself  witli  grace  and  skill  in  passages  of  arms. 
Nevertheless,  while  possessing  ample  courage  and 
manliness,  and  being  an  acknowledged  favourite  among 
his  fellows,  he  was,  as  he  admitted  frankly,  happiest  at 
a  lady's  feet! 

It  is  not  hard  to  picture  Bernart  and  Margarida 
together  golden  hour  by  golden  hour ;  the  Troubadour 
playing  upon  his  harp  and  singing  his  wonderful  love- 
songs,  as  the  heavy  breath  of  crowding  roses  surged 
in  through  the  open  casement,  and  the  warm  Provencal 
winds  caressed  the  hair  and  face  of  the  Vicomtesse. 
It  was  a  beautiful  dream  to  Bernart;  and  perhaps 
Margarida  herself,  in  all  her  gay  and  wilful  life,  had 
never  known  such  high  and  genuine  feeling.  But  the 
idyll  was  brief,  as  were  most  things  in  Provence.  Pain 
and  joy,  love  and  death,  reached  their  bloom  swiftly, 
there  in  the  South ;  and  nothing  endured  longer  than 
the  roses. 

One  day,  under  that  big  pine-tree  that  shadowed 
the  garden  of  Ventadour,  Bernart  sank  on  his  knee  at 
Margarida's  feet,  and  began  to  sing.  He  was  in- 
spired as  never  before,  and  his  melody  was  as  exquisite 
as  it  was  new-born  and  fresh.  So  touched  she  was,  so 
stirred,  so  moved,  so  impressed  by  the  loveliness  of  the 
strain,  that  she  bent  above  him  as  he  knelt  at  her  feet, 
and  kissed  him  without  a  word. 


THE  SINGER  OF  LOVE  13 

Whether  or  not  the  Vicomte  Ebles  saw  the  kiss,  or 
whether  some  pr3^ing  servitor  told  him  of  it,  is  not  re- 
corded. But  in  some  manner  he  knew  of  it,  and, 
shocked  out  of  his  honourable  and  generous  confi- 
dence, he  decided  to  put  an  end  to  the  musical  and 
poetical  romance  going  on  in  Ventadour. 

He  led  his  Vicomtesse  to  her  apartments  in  the  don- 
jon tower,  left  her  there  with  her  women,  and  locked 
her  in  securely.  "Then,"  says  an  ancient  chronicler, 
"he  made  himself  a  stranger  to  Bernart."  That  he 
did  not  banish  him  from  the  Court  is  proof  of  his  gen- 
erous nature  and  the  love  he  bore  the  young  Trouba- 
dour. 

Bernart  was  profoundly  miserable.  His  benefactor's 
attitude  was  so  bitter  a  reproach  to  his  thought- 
less, ronlantic  nature,  that  he  could  hardly  endure  to 
remain  longer  at  Ventadour.  But  he  was  convinced 
that  his  beautiful  lady  was  grieving  for  his  songs,  and 
so  remained  to  write  her  countless  poetical  effusions, 
which  he  sent  her  by  a  secret  messenger,  and  even  sang 
to  her  softly  in  the  shadow  of  the  donjon  tower.  But 
Margarida  never  even  looked  from  her  window  to  thank 
him.  Finally  the  secret  messenger  brought  him  a 
message : 

"The  Lady  Margarida  desired  that  he  should  de- 
part and  go  away  from  all  that  region,  and  come 
not  back  to  it  any  more." 

This  curt  and  unsympathetic  response  to  his  song- 


14  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

making  opened  Bcrnart's  eyes  at  last,  and  he  saw  that 
the  Vicomtesse  had  simply  cared  for  him  and  his  songs 
while  thev  entertained  and  did  not  inconvenience  her. 
Moreover,  rumours  reached  him  that  Margarida  had 
been  much  more  interested  in  the  Sieur  de  Beaucaire, 
a  distinguished  noble  who  had  visited  the  Castle,  than 
in  him. 

In  a  mood  of  keen,  if  transient,  unhappiness,  the 
young  Troubadour  said  good-bye  to  Ventadour,  his 
lord,  and  his  boyhood,  and  went  away.  He  took  his 
harp  and  his  jongleurs, — the  men  who  sang  his  songs 
when  he  was  out  of  humour, — and  lived  the  life  of  a 
wanderer  for  a  time. 

This  is  part  of  the  song  which  he  made  out  of  his 
departure : 

'"In  vain  at  Ventadour  full  many  a  friend 

Will  seek  me,  for  ray  lady  doth  refuse  me. 
And  thither  small  my  wish  my  way  to  wend, 

If  ever  thus  despitefully  she  use  me. 
On  me  she  frowninj^ly  her  brow  doth  bend. 
For  why  ?     My  love  to  her  hath  ne'er  an  end  ; 
But  of  no  other  crime  she  can  accuse  me." 

This  song  has  an  artificial  ring  except  for  two  lines, 
wherein  he  seems  to  refer  to  his  happiness  in  Venta- 
dour: 

"...  I  send  unto  Provence  ^reat  love  and  joy, 
And  greater  joy  than  ever  tongue  expresseth.  ..." 

'Translation  by  Ida  Farnell. 


THE  SINGER  OF  LOVE  15 

So  ends  the  first  part  of  the  story  of  Bemart  de 
Ventadorn, — the  part  through  which  "Bel  Vezer" 
smiled,  frowned  and  coquetted.  The  tale  was  set  down 
by  the  Trouvere  Hugh  (or  "Uc")  de  Saint  Circ,  who 
says: 

".  .  .  And  this  that  I,  Hugh  of  Saint  Circ, 
have  written  of  him,  did  the  Viscount  Ebles,  of 
Ventadour,  relate  to  me;  son  of  the  Viscountess  that 
Sir  Bemart  loved." 

Margarida  and  her  husband  never  were  reconciled. 
She  had  small  power  of  affection,  either  for  him  or  for 
their  small  son,  the  "Viscount  Ebles,"  referred  to  by 
Saint  Circ.  She  was  tired  of  her  husband,  and  he 
was  bitterly  disappointed  in  her,  and  a  separation  was 
soon  obtained.  Margarida  married  Guilhelm  IV., 
Count  of  Angouleme,  without  the  slightest  delay,  and 
continued  to  be  known  as  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
women  of  her  day.  Her  loveliness  added  lustre  to 
four  ancient  names :  Turenne,  Limoges,  Ventadorn  and 
Angouleme.  As  one  writer  says,  in  all  simplicity: 
"She  must  have  been  very  attractive !" 

Ebles,  whose  nature  was  too  deep  to  permit  of  con- 
solation, and  who  had  now  lost  not  only  his  wife,  but 
Bernart,  whom  he  loved  as  a  brother,  left  Ventadour 
forever.  He,  like  Bernart,  could  no  longer  bear  the 
sad  and  sweet  memories  connected  with  the  place,  and 
he  travelled  far  and  wide,  striving  to  forget.  But 
while  Bemart  was  comforted  speedily  by  his  two  gods, 


16  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Song  and  Love,  the  Vicomte  failed  to  find  f orgetfulness 
or  consolation.  So  he  journeyed  to  Monte  Cassino, 
in  Italy,  became  a  monk  in  an  austere  Order,  and  never 
was  heard  of  any  more. 

For  three  years  Bernart  wandered  about,  growing 
older,  but,  it  is  to  be  feared,  hardly  wiser.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  he  found  himself  in  that  enchanting,  bril- 
liant and  dangerous  place,  the  Court  of  Normandy. 
Says  Rowbotham,  the  historian,  "Normandy  was  an 
ever-open  asylum  to  the  unfortunate  in  love  and  the 
fortunate  in  war." 

When  Bernart  arrived  at  Court  his  second  patron 
had  just  brought  home  his  bride.  This  time  both 
patron  and  bride  were  of  exalted  station, — no  petty 
count  and  countess  but  a  future  king  and  a  divorced 
queen!  Henry  of  Anjou,  later  Henry  II.,  of  Eng- 
land, was  at  that  time  Duke  of  Normandy,  and  reigned 
over  all  the  province.  His  son  was  one  day  to  be 
known  by  all  the  world  as  Coeur  de  Lion,  but  at  the 
time  of  which  I  speak,  Henry  was  himself  a  mere  boy 
in  years,  younger  as  a  matter  of  fact  than  our  Ber- 
nart. Yet  he  was  not  too  young  to  be  wayward  and 
obstinate  and  overbearing ;  and  so  it  happened  that  of 
all  the  royal  women  of  the  world  he  chose  Queen  Elea- 
nor for  his  wife ! 

Born  Duchess  of  Aquitaine,  she  had  been  for  a 
brief  restless  season  Queen  of  France,  and  con- 
sort   of    "the    priestly    king,"  Louis  VII.     She    had 


THE  SINGER  OF  LOVE  17 

despised  Louis  and  had  married  young  Prince  Henry 
because,  as  she  asserted,  "she  wanted  a  man,  not  a 
monk,  for  a  husband !"  She  it  was  who  had  gone  with 
the  Crusaders  into  Palestine,  making  coats  of  mail  the 
fashion  for  great  ladies.  And  she  it  was  who  presided 
at  the  fantastic  Courts  of  Love  of  the  day.  She  kept 
herself  steadily  before  the  public  gaze, — not  from  van- 
ity, like  Bel  Vezer,  but  from  a  love  of  power  and  of 
adventure.  She  was  as  imposing  as  Margarida  was 
appealing  and  charming,  and  of  the  two  it  is  admitted 
that  the  Queen  was  the  more  beautiful.  In  March 
she  bade  farewell  to  her  royal  "Monk,"  and  imme- 
diately married  Henry  Plantagenet.  He  brought  her 
home  to  Normandy,  his  bride  and  Princess,  soon  to  be 
his  Queen ;  and  great  were  the  festivities  in  honour  of 
that  bridal. 

Eleanor  flung  herself  heart  and  soul  into  the  spirit 
of  gaiety.  She  was  glad  to  be  free  from  Louis,  for, 
while  she  did  not  love  Henry  overmuch,  she  loved  him 
better  than  the  French  King.  And  her  passion  for 
power  thrilled  her  with  triumph  in  that  it  would  be 
but  for  a  brief  season,  after  all,  that  she  would  not 
wear  a  crown. 

To  Bernart,  still  moodily  though  fitfully  mourning 
his  lost  Bel  Vezer,  came  the  vision  of  this  magnificent 
young  Duchess,  like  the  sun  between  clouds.  When 
he  saw  her,  the  last  lingering  flames  of  his  foolish  and 
infatuated  sentiment  for  Margarida  paled  before  the 


18  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

clear  light  of  a  genuine  admiration.  He  appointed 
himself  Knight  and  Troubadour  to  Her  Highness  with- 
out delay,  and  set  himself  to  compose  a  fresh  and  more 
brilliant  order  of  songs  for  her  superior  judgment. 

Margarida  had  been  lovely  as  a  gay  flower;  this 
woman  had  the  beauty  of  the  moon  and  stars ;  or  so  he 
thought.  Margarida  had  possessed  charm;  Eleanor 
had  the  magnetism  of  a  deep  and  rare  personality. 
The  Vicomtesse  had  had  a  gracious  wit;  the  Duchess 
had  an  intellect  of  unusual  strength  and  keenness.  Bel 
Vezer  had  carried  with  her  an  atmosphere  of  artificial 
romance  and  perfumed  sentiment ;  this  woman,  who 
had  been  and  would  again  be  a  Queen,  seemed  forever 
surrounded  by  a  grandeur  of  emotion  which  had  in  it 
pride  and  wildness,  dignity  and  abandon.  Margari- 
da's  spirit  was  as  small  as  her  dainty  frame ;  Eleanor, 
body  and  soul,  was  large,  strong  and  beautiful. 

Says  the  Prior  of  Vigeois:  "The  Duchess  of  Nor- 
mandy was  illustrious  and  much  admired,  and  well 
versed  in  matters  of  fame  and  honour,  and  knew  how 
to  award  praise."  She  had  too  much  discernment  not 
to  appreciate  Bernart's  gifts,  and  readily  permitted 
him  to  sing  her  praises  before  the  world.  So  it  came 
about  that  Bernart  took  far  more  pains  with  his  songs 
than  ever  he  had  in  the  old  days.  Bel  Vezer  had  only 
recognised  the  sweet  and  entertaining  quality  of  his 
work.  The  Princess  Eleanor  had  a  fine  knowledge  of 
music  and  letters,  and  her  brain  as  well  as  her  heart  re- 


THE  SINGER  OF  LOVE  19 

sponded  to  her  Troubadour's  songs.  It  is  to  Eleanor, 
therefore,  that  we  owe  Bernart's  loveliest  lyrics.  To 
her  was  written  that  chanson  in  which  he  managed  to 
breathe  the  spirit  of  the  skylarks  that  had  soared  and 
sung  above  the  gardens  of  Ventadour  through  his 
golden  boyhood, — which  we  call  the  Lark  Song : 

'"When  I  behold  on  eager  wing 

The  skylark  soaring  to  the  sun 
Till,  e'en  with  rapture  faltering, 

He  sinks  in  glad  oblivion, 
Alas,  how  fain  to  seek  were  I 

The  same  ecstatic  fate  of  fire  ! 
Yea,  of  a  truth  I  know  not  why 

My  heart  melts  not  with  its  desire  !     .     .     .  " 

The  Court  of  Love  over  which  the  Duchess  Eleanor 
presided  was  a  strange  institution,  one  of  the  strang- 
est facts  of  mediaeval  times.  An  "amorous  legislature" 
was  established,  and  there  were  thirty-two  Laws  of 
Love,  which  were  carefully  observed  and  strictly  en- 
forced! Most  of  these  laws  were  the  outcome  of 
judgment  delivered  in  various  cases  before  the  Courts 
of  Love. 

A  number  of  ladies  of  Normandy,  presided  over  by 
Eleanor,  sat  in  judgment  and  heard  the  pleas  and  de- 
fences of  all  the  lovers  of  the  country-side.  They 
settled  sentimental  quarrels,  brought  persons  together, 
and  parted  those  who  were  unsuitcd  to  one  another. 
Some  of  the  cases  strike  modern  minds  as  being  particu- 

'Translation  by  Harriet  W.  Preston. 


20  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

larlj  amusing.  One  lady  brought  against  her  lover 
the  complaint  that  he  was  careless  as  to  dress,  dis- 
hevelled as  to  hair,  and  melancholy  as  to  conversation. 
The  court  decided  against  her,  giving  as  a  judgment 
the  unanimous  statement  that  being  in  love  always 
affected  men  thus ! 

Out  of  the  decrees  of  the  Court  were  built  up  the 
Thirty-two  Laws  of  Love.  The  laws  are  of  the  order 
of  this  sample: 

"Every  action  of  a  lover  must  terminate  with  the  thought 
of  the  loved  one." 

And  this: 

"Nothing  prevents  one  lady  being  loved  by  two  gentle- 
men, or  one  gentleman  by  two  ladies.  .  .  .!" 

Certainly  it  was  fitting  that  an  era  so  given  over  to 
the  god  Eros  should  have  produced  the  greatest  of  all 
Singers  of  Love. 

The  Princess  was  but  little  older  than  her  Trouba- 
dour, and  their  companionship  was  very  perfect.  Both 
rarely  gifted,  they  understood  each  other,  and  were  ex- 
cellent friends,  all  romance  apart.  In  those  days,  as 
we  all  know,  every  great  lady  had  her  minstrel,  and 
Eleanor  was  glad  to  have  as  a  Trouvere  so  great  a 
master  as  Bernart  de  Ventadorn.  "Azimar"  and 
"Conort"  were  the  two  names  by  which  Eleanor  is 
called  in  Bernart's  songs.  The  reason  for  this  is 
unknown  save  to  their  two  ghosts  wherever  they 
may  be. 


THE  SINGER  OF  LOVE  21 

However,  that  brilliant  period  at  the  Norman 
Court  was  but  a  short  one.  The  year  after  his 
marriage  Henry  succeeded  to  the  throne  of  Eng- 
land. He  sailed  away  to  claim  his  kingdom,  and, 
either  by  way  of  compliment  or  irony,  took  Ber- 
nart  with  him !  The  Troubadour,  however,  did  not 
stay  long.  The  first  ship  available  carried  him  back 
to  Normandy  and  Eleanor.  But  she  by  this  time  was 
more  interested  in  her  coming  coronation  than  in  min- 
strelsy, and  Bernart  found  himself  of  less  importance 
at  Court  than  heretofore.  At  Christmas  King  Henry 
returned  for  his  Queen.  The  Court  was  broken  up, 
the  ladies  of  the  Tribunal  of  Love  settled  down  in  their 
neighbouring  castles,  the  royal  effects  were  packed, 
and  the  royal  couple  went  their  ways  to  rule  over  their 
new  kingdom. 

Bernart  was  left  behind.  A  whisper  there  was  of 
his  being  summoned  later,  but  days,  months,  and  years 
passed  without  a  message  from  England.  Their  new 
duties  filled  the  minds  of  the  King  and  Queen,  and  if 
Eleanor  sometimes  gave  a  thought  to  the  Troubadour 
Henry  certainly  did  not. 

One  day  Bernart  sent  the  Queen  a  letter.  In  it  he 
said:  "Across  the  sea  before  the  coming  winter  will  I 
come  from  Normandy  to  England ;  for  I  am  both  a 
Norman  and  an  Englishman  now."  But  he  received 
no  answer  from  his  lady. 

Nevertheless,   when,   after  four  years   of  waiting, 


22  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Bernart  presented  himself  at  the  English  Court,  he 
was  most  graciously  received,  and  was  installed  as 
Poet  Laureate. 

But  though  his  adoration  for  the  Queen  had 
prompted  Bernart  to  declare  that  he  was  now 
English  since  she  had  become  so,  he  found  the 
British  Court  a  strange,  sad  place,  and  hungered 
for  other  and  warmer  lands.  Moreover,  the  old  sym- 
pathy and  understanding  between  himself  and  Eleanor 
seemed  to  have  failed  and  faded.  So  he  bade  his 
patrons  a  respectful  and  rather  sorrowful  farewell,  and 
with  his  harp  under  his  arm  sailed  away  from  Eng- 
land. 

Once  more  he  became  a  wanderer.  Wishing  ex- 
perience in  warfare  perhaps,  he  took  service  under 
Raymond  V.,  called  "The  Good  Count  of  Toulouse," 
perhaps  because  other  Counts  of  Toulouse  have  been 
so  peculiarly  wicked.  At  the  Count's  Castle  he  met 
many  of  t^^e  most  brilliant  men  of  his  day :  Pierre  Vi- 
dal,  that  graceful  jester  in  rhyme;  Pierre  Rogier,  the 
courtly  scholar;  Folquet  of  Marseilles,  the  melan- 
choly and  fanciful  dreamer;  the  hot-blooded  and  de- 
bonnair  Raimon  de  Miraval,  and  many  others. 

Bernart  distinguished  himself  in  the  play  of  wits  and 
in  the  use  of  arms,  but  as  ever  it  was  not  war  nor 
laughter,  but  love  which  formed  the  burden  of  his 
songs.  He  grew  to  know  Ermengarde  de  Narbonne, 
she  to  whom  Pierre  Rogier's  finished  and  scholarly 


THE  SINGER  OF  LOVE 

poems  were  addressed.  She  was  a  noble  and  intellec- 
tual lady,  though  utterly  lacking  in  beauty,  and  a 
power  in  the  cultivated  world.  Indeed  she  was  the 
New  Woman  of  the  day.  Bernart  liked  and  admired 
her,  and  wrote  for  her  several  songs.  There  were, 
too,  many  other  women  to  whom  he  devoted  himself, 
poetically  speaking.  But  Bernart  no  longer  gave 
his  devotion  with  his  songs.  That  was  over.  His 
heart  had  first  been  charmed  by  Margarida  de  Venta- 
dorn.  All  the  real  love  of  his  life  had  been  given  to 
Queen  Eleanor.  Therein  was  comprised  the  romance 
of  Bernart  the  Singer. 

He  made  charming  love  songs  afterward,  it  is 
true ;  but  he  no  longer  poured  his  life-blood  into  his 
stanzas, — no  longer  wrote  his  music  in  time  to  the 
throbs  of  his  heart. 

He  lived  chiefly  with  his  golden  memories,  and  their 
light  served  to  inspire  him  in  more  glowing  fashion 
than  any  enchantments  of  newer  loves.  For  many 
years  he  sang,  under  radiant  suns  and  mist-veiled 
moons,  mingling  his  rhymes  with  brooks  and  forest 
whispers,  and  his  music  with  the  songs  of  larks  and 
nightingales.  For  many  years  he  drank  life  as  though 
it  were  wine  of  a  rare  vintage, — eagerly  yet  lingcr- 
ingly.  He  drank  each  moment  to  the  dregs,  complain- 
ing of  no  bitterness  when  he  reached  them,  and  front- 
ing the  morrow  with  the  warm  sweet  cheer  with  which 
he  treasured  the  past.     For  many  years  he  voiced  the 


24  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

varied  aspects  and  phases  of  romance  in  verse  and 
melody,  uplifting  the  lyric  strain  of  love  above  the 
change  of  seasons  and  the  clamour  of  wars. 

And  suddenly — he  was  old, and  began  to  feel  the  chill 
of  twilight  creeping  over  the  warm  human  sunshine  of 
his  life.  Whereupon  he  smiled,  and  put  away  his  harp. 
And  he  travelled  back  to  Provence,  and  knocked  on  the 
postern-door  of  the  Monastery  of  Dalon.  They  took 
him  in,  the  good  wise  monks  of  that  quiet  Cistercian 
Abbey,  and  he  put  on  the  robe  of  the  Order,  and  mur- 
mured Aves  among  the  solemn  shadows.  As  a  boy  he 
had  hated  the  monastic  restrictions  and  seclusion ;  in 
his  old  age  he  found  the  life  and  the  atmosphere  most 
restful  and  comforting. 

Moreover,  between  Matins  and  Vespers  there  were  a 
thousand  moments  wherein  one  could  remember  one's 
rose-red  youth,  and  in  one's  secret  soul  make  love- 
songs, — never  to  be  sung ! 

And  finally,  one  summer  day,  smiling  softly  over  his 
crowding  dreams,  he  slipped  away  into  some  Ghost 
World  where  he  could  sing  with  the  golden,  forgotten 
voice  of  his  youth. 

But  alas !  This  earth  knows  him  no  longer.  Not 
even  in  Provence,  where  the  skylarks  sing  out  their 
souls  against  the  sun,  may  one  find  him, — Bernart  le 
Chanteur,  the  Singer  of  Love. 


IN  PRAISE  OF  THE  LADY  OF 

FAYEL 


NIGHTINGALE   SONG 


When ....    the    mag  -  ic  niglit-in     -      -     gale, 


3— '^-^*-^^^^:3p= 


-Jtt L 


^=f=r. 


-t^-r 


~i^^ 


-0 •- 


=P= 


Siuss 


a  -  bove  the  sum  -  mer  slieeu,  When.,     the 


m^rn^^. 


Shine witU 


-^— t— t 


dew      a 


5*"  3 

mid  tlu;       green, 


^=t^ i- 


should 


m^E^^0^ 


-»— *- 


:^=t^ 


sing  my   ten  -  der    tale     Of  the  bright  love  I  have  seen, 


;fc 


zimz 


ip=C: 


:«^^^^£?^F^*E^Er 


■M^i — 1^—    r     I       -^- 


Bui        my  heart  and  lips  do    fail,....       I....       bave 


i^^^^* 


:±=:±=: 


dreamed   too 


P 


Z5t=ac 


high..      I 


3?^e 


-3- 


-r- 


weenl 

— l^i 1 — 


=ft=Sz 


-zt= 


Heights       of        song, 


Oh! 


dare     1       scale. 


In. 


the    ser^vice  of...      my  Queen 


II 


IN   PRAISE  OF  THE   LADY  OF 

FAYEL 


t$ 


"Songs  of  leaves  and  budding  flowers. 

Dewy  wood  and  shining  plain. 
Are  but  songs  of  idle  hours. 

If  Love  claim  not  each  refrain. 
He  who  seeks  a  tender  strain, 

Yet  from  her  sweet  praise  abstain, 
Gaineth  not  the  Springtime's  dowers, 

Sighs  with  but  a  phantom  pain." 

Thus  in  the  old-world  days,  in  the  fragrant  lute- 
haunted  twilight  of  the  twelfth  century,  sang  one  Reg- 
nault  de  Coucy,  Chatelain  of  the  splendid  old  Castle 
that  bears  his  ancient  and  honoured  name  to  this  day. 
It  stands  there,  in  sweet,  romantic  Picardy,not  far  from 
Laon  and  from  Noyon,  its  superb  walls  crumbling, 
its  spacious  rooms  bare  and  deserted,  and  glowers  for- 
biddingly across  its  moat  at  impertinent  travellers. 
Magnificent  in  its  ruin,  it  has  no  part  in  the  world  of 
to-day,  but  talks  dumbly  of  feudal  centuries  that  are 
dead. 

There  is  a  village  there,  too,  that  bears  the  name 
of  the  Castle.  Were  they  vassals, — they  who  lived 
there  in  the  days  of  Regnault,  the  Chatelain? 


28  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Those  were  days  the  record  whereof  is  so  faintly, 
delicately  writ  upon  historic  pages  that  the  reader  must 
perforce  turn  away  with  dimmed  and  bewildered 
eyes, — able  to  grasp  but  little  concerning  what  these 
strangely  pranked  and  panoplied  people  actually  did, 
but  breathing  deeply  the  indefinable,  vaporous  per- 
fume of  their  mysteriously  charming  lines.  In  poring 
over  the  old  books  something  steals  out  across  the 
pages, — the  echo  of  a  Troubadour's  lute,  or  the  scent 
of  the  red  rose  the  Lady  of  Fayel  wore  in  her  gold 
hair, — a  tapestry-like  colouring,  a  mailed  shimmer, 
a  melody,  quaint  and  sad,  such  as  might  have  ac- 
companied some  weary  jongleur  from  Court  to 
Court. 

Doubtless  they  did  not  only  live  pictures  and  music, 
those  mediaeval  folk,  but  certain  it  is  that  it  is  only  the 
pictures  and  music  that  have  come  down  to  us.  The 
vision  and  the  dream  remain,  fresh  and  wonderful ; — 
the  rest  has  slipped  away  into  the  kindly  obscurity  of 
the  dead  years. 

We  read  that  Regnault  de  Coucy  was  a  valorous  and 
accomplished  knight,  having  a  pretty  skill  with  the 
sword  and  lance  in  a  tourney.  And  whether  we  will 
or  no,  we  see  the  glittering  lists  with  the  armoured  war- 
riors and  eager  dames,  and  our  ears  catch  the  clan- 
gour of  good  steel  soundly  struck. 

And  when  we  read  the  verses  of  the  courtly  Chatelain 
(those  verses  which  dear  Dr.  Burney  says  are  "some 


PRAISE  OF  THE  LADY  OF  FAYEL     29 

of  the  most  elegant  and  afflicting  songs  in  the  French 
language" !) — and  when  we  hum  over  to  ourselves  the 
odd,  sweet  melodies  to  which  they  were  set — what  then  ? 
We  see  the  Troubadour's  handsome  face  bent  above  his 
lute,  and  the  fair,  proud  head  of  his  Lady  sunk  upon 
tliat  wonderful  white  hand  of  which  he  has  written  so 
tenderly, — her  gracious  spirit  given  up  to  the  dreams 
evoked  by  his  music. 

"Nay  !"  writes  the  Chatelain  de  Coucy.  "Never  shall 
mine  e3'es  be  satisfied  with  gazing  upon  her  sweet  and 
tender  face,  her  white  hands,  her  long  and  slender 
fingers  of  which  the  very  sight  lights  the  fires  of  adora- 
tion, .  .  .  the  blonde  brightness  of  her  hair. 
The  variously  beautiful  things  that  shine  separately 
and  fitly  in  other  women  are  all  united  in  her  to  ren- 
der her  completely  perfect." 

Somewhere  between  1160  and  1180  Regnault  de 
Coucy  was  bom.  The  old  historians  are  of  many 
minds  as  to  the  exact  dates  both  of  his  birth  and  his 
death,  but  a  compromise  between  disagreeing  author- 
ities suggests,  approximately,  1170  for  his  birth,  and 
1200  for  his  death.  This,  according  to  compara- 
tively authentic  records,  would  necessitate  his  having 
become  Chatelain  de  Coucy  at  the  tender  age  of  six- 
teen,— 1186, — but  this  is  possible.  He  is  said  to  have 
taken  part  in  the  Third  Crusade,  which  was  in  1189- 
91,  but  the  Abbe  de  la  Rue  insists  that  he  did  not 
reach  Palestine  until  1197.     It  is  certain  that  he  was 


30  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

killed  about  the  time  that  the  thirteenth  century  was 
born.  Of  necessity  the  chronicles  of  that  remote  day 
are  something  vague  and  contradictory,  so  let  us 
waive  more  complete  exactitude,  contenting  ourselves 
with  noting  the  life — too  brief, — and  the  songs, — too 
few, — of  that  most  courtly  and  gifted  young  Trouba- 
dour, Regnault  de  Coucy. 

The  house  of  Coucy  was  an  ancient  and  noble  one. 
The  Sire  Raoul,  Regnault's  uncle, — has  a  prominent 
place  in  twelfth  century  history,  and  there  are  those 
who  insist  that  he  too  was  a  Troubadour,  if  not,  indeed, 
the  author  of  the  famous  Coucy  chansons  themselves ! 
And  other  branches  of  the  family  were  worthy  of  note. 
A  certain  young  cousin  of  Regnault's,  Raoul  de 
Malvoisin,  won  renown  as  a  Troubadour,  and  is  spoken 
of  with  honour  in  many  books  that  make  no  mention 
of  our  Chatelain.  The  Coucy  house  had  long  been 
a  power  in  the  Kingdom.  Not  so  very  many  years 
before.  King  Louis  the  Fat  had  taken  sides  with  one 
of  Regnault's  ancestors  against  a  kinsman,  and  the 
traditions  of  the  family  were  of  high  nobility.  So  we 
see  that  our  young  hero  grew  up  in  an  atmosphere  of 
greatness.  It  was  almost  a  foregone  conclusion  that 
he  should  do  something  of  note  in  the  world.  He  was  a 
feudal  lord,  King  Philippe  Auguste's  faithful  servant, 
and  Castellan  of  a  great  castle.  In  early  youth  he 
was  taught,  in  addition  to  the  usual  complement  of 
courtly  and  knightly  accomplishments,  the  gentle  art 


PRAISE  OF  THE  LADY  OF  FAYEL     31 

of  the  Troubadours.  He  had  his  own  jongleurs  and 
glecmen  to  sing  his  melodies,  and,  moreover,  possessed 
a  personal  aptitude  for  singing  and  for  instrumental 
music,  playing  with  ease  and  grace  upon  the  various 
instruments  popular  in  the  Courts  of  that  day- 

Just  what  those  instruments  were  it  is  difficult  to 
say,  but  there  are  in  existence  old  English  manuscripts 
in  which  certain  professional  minstrels  enumerate  the 
instruments  upon  which  they  can  play.  Here  is  a 
list  of  a  few  of  those  mentioned :  The  lute,  the  violin, 
the  pipe,  the  syrinx,  the  trumpet,  the  trumpet-marine, 
the  harp,  the  vielle,  the  bagpipe,  the  gigue,  the  gittern, 
the  symphony,  the  psaltery,  the  organistrum,  the  taber, 
the  rote,  the  flageolet,  the  sack-but,  the  rebeck,  the  re- 
gal, and  the  set  of  bells.  One  picturesque  jongleur 
writes :  "I  can  play  the  shawlm,  the  timbrel,  the  cym- 
bales,  the  Spanish  penola  that  is  struck  with  a  quill, 
the  organistrum  that  a  wheel  turns  around,  the  wait 
so  delightful,  the  rebeck  so  enchanting,  the  little  gigue 
that  chirps  up  high,  and  the  great  big  hornlike 
thunder !" 

There  was  also  an  instrument  called  the  chrotta, 
but  no  one  seems  to  have  the  slightest  idea  what  it  was 
like.  I  decline  to  believe  that  Regnault  ever  played  the 
chrotta,  or,  indeed,  most  of  the  other  strange  things 
just  mentioned.  They  were  reserved  for  professionals, 
while  the  high-born  Troubadours  contented  themselves 
with  the  poetic  lute,  vielle  and  harp.     You  must  know, 


32  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

by  the  bye,  that  a  jongleur,  or  paid  musician,  held  a 
most  unenviable  position  in  those  days. 

Quoth  a  gay  lady  of  her  attendant  knight,  on  some 
brocade-carpeted,  rose-scented  terrace:  "Which  would 
you  rather  be, — a  jongleur  or  a  robber?" 

To  which  he,  splendid  in  satin  and  shining  mail,  re- 
plied merrily :  "A  robber !" 

And  they  laughed  together,  while  the  poor  jongleur 
who  had  given  rise  to  the  jest,  sat  before  them,  labour- 
ing painstakingly  to  give  them  pleasure,  with  the  aid 
of  his  gigue,  or  his  set  of  bells,  or  perhaps, — who 
knows  ? — his  mysterious  chrotta ! 

Not  only  was  Regnault  de  Coucy  a  great  Trouba- 
dour,— one  as  it  chanced  beloved  of  the  gods  and 
gifted  with  Apollo's  own  gift  of  song,  but  he  was  a 
courtly  knight,  a  radiantly  handsome  gallant,  and  an 
iron-armed  lance-bearer  in  the  lists.  He  was  also 
eternally  gay  and  eternally  generous,  although,  in 
spite  of  the  grandeur  of  his  name,  he  had  but  little 
wealth.  Perhaps  the  brave  Sire  Raoul  had  already 
squandered  it,  or  perhaps  Regnault  himself  was  one  of 
those  with  whom  money  likes  not  to  abide  too  long ; 
certain  it  is  that  he  was  forever  out  of  pocket,- — but 
forever  kindly,  forever  brave,  and  forever  bursting 
into  song  as  irrepressible  and  as  spontaneous  as  that  of 
a  wood-bird.  In  an  old  English  poem  they  call  him 
the  "Knight  of  Courtesy,"  and  all  the  historians  have 
a  word  of  tribute.     But  there    is    one    gracious  old 


PRAISE  OF  THE  LADY  OF  FAYEL     33 

romancer  whose  pen  seems  to  have  been  dipped  in  pure 
love  for  and  comprehension  of  the  Chatelain.  This  de- 
liglitful  poet  has  signed  no  name  to  his  tale  of  the 
Troubadour  and  his  Lady,  explaining  in  quaintest 
French,  that  his  identity  would  be  of  no  interest  to  the 
world  at  large,  onW  to  the  "gracious  and  amiable  lady" 
for  whom  he  has  worked.  "I  shall  be  well  recom- 
pensed," he  writes,  "if  she  accept  my  homage.  I  con- 
secrate mj'self  to  her  service,  for  she  makes  all  my 
felicity,  and  I  shall  maintain  myself  in  joy  to  serve 
her  so  long  as  I  may  be  alive." 

To  this  charming  unknown,  who  wrote  in  the  thir- 
teenth century,  we  owe  the  only  coherent,  if  idealised, 
account  of  the  Chatelain's  devotion  to  the  Lady  of 
Fayel,  and  to  him,  too,  this  brief  but  sufficient  tribute 
to  our  hero's  good  qualities: 

"He  was  handsome,  lovable  and  gallant,  and  he  was 
full  of  wit.  He  had  not  great  wealth,  but  for  honour, 
courage,  and  a  ready  skill  with  arms,  not  Gawain  nor 
Launcelot  could  surpass  him." 

The  Castle  where  Regnault  de  Coucy  lived  was 
noticeably  splendid  even  in  those  days  of  impressive 
feudal  piles.  It  was  perfectly  constructed  for  war- 
fare and  defence,  being  accessible  from  but  one  side. 
Its  fortress  was  most  imposing,  its  moat  was  deep  and 
broad,  its  walls  were  lofty,  and  its  donjons  all  that 
donjons  should  be.  Four  great  towers  rose  sharp 
against  the  blue  sky  of  Picardy,  and  guarded  the  cen- 


U  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

tral  donjon  keep,  whicli  was  two  hundred  and  ten  feet 
high,  and  one  hundred  feet  in  diameter.  The  Castle 
covered  ten  thousand  square  yards,  and  its  walls  were 
thirty-four  inches  thick.  This  rough  description 
gives  a  vague  idea  of  our  Regnault's  home. 

Here  he  passed  the  lengthy  and  gloomy  win- 
ter months,  practising  feats  of  strength  and  exer- 
cise in  weapons,  and,  accompanied  by  his  atten- 
tive jongleurs,  composing  his  delicate  songs.  Here, 
among  the  dim  shadows,  shut  in  by  the  winter 
cold  and  the  great  walls  of  his  lonely  Castle,  his 
fugitive  rose  and  silver  fancies  came  to  him  in 
frailest  but  most  exquisite  shape, — elusive  melo- 
dies and  wonderful  rhymes,  to  be  moulded  together  in 
fitting  form,  against  the  coming  of  the  headlong 
spring.  This  was  in  Northern  France,  where  the 
spring  came  later  but  more  thrillingly  than  in  lan- 
gorous  Provence.  When  the  river  Aisne  tumbled  with  a 
sharper  cadence,  and  the  first  flowers  speared  the 
melting  and  softening  earth,  the  quicksilver  of  the 
season  would  run  through  the  veins  of  the  young 
Castellan. 

Then  he  called  his  men-at-arms  and  musicians,  and, 
with  head  uplifted  to  catch  the  full  tang  and  savour 
of  the  new  time,  and  pulses  bounding  even  as  last 
year's  leaves  bounded  beneath  the  riotious  wind,  he  rode 
abroad,  singing  the  songs  of  his  making. 

"For  the  springtime,"  cried  aloud  the  Chatelain  de 


PRAISE  OF  THE  LADY  OF  FAYEL     55 

Coucy, — "and  the  month  of  May, — and  the  violet, — 
and  the  nightingale, — all  invite  me  to  sing !" 

From  castle  to  castle  rode  the  Knight-Tjoubadours 
in  spring.  Everywhere  they  were  greeted  with  an 
eager  welcome,  for  their  art  was  dearly  prized. 
Everywhere  there  were  festivities  to  do  them  honour, 
for  almost  all  were  noble  by  rank  and  birth.  And 
when  they  wished  to  pay  a  particularly  marked  com- 
pliment in  return,  they  would  push  their  jongleurs 
aside,  and,  taking  lute  or  harp,  would  sing  their  own 
songs  for  the  pleasure  of  the  lord  or  lady  they  were 
visiting. 

As  we  know,  it  was  the  custom  for  every  Trouba- 
dour to  single  out  some  great  lady  for  his  special 
allegiance.  To  her  all  his  songs  were  addressed,  and 
her  colours  were  carried  by  him  in  every  tourney  he 
chanced  to  enter.  But  for  many  years  Regnault  sang 
only  to  an  imaginary  Queen  of  Hearts, — a  lady 
sketched  in  mist  and  moonbeams,  but  fairer,  he  vowed, 
than  ever  mortal  woman  could  be.  Then,  during  one 
of  his  early  spring  flights,  he  saw, — suddenly  and 
briefly  as  one  sees  a  star  between  fast-moving  clouds, 
— a  face.  It  was  a  fair  and  delicate  face  with  smiling 
lips,  but  with  the  pride  of  sadness  in  the  deep  blue 
eyes, — a  face  framed  in  a  mist  of  sun-coloured  hair. 
From  that  moment  his  dream-lady  was  gone, — or 
rather  his  dream-lady  had  become  real,  and,  with  loy- 
alty and  good  cheer,  as  became  a  brave  knight  and 


36  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

true,  he  hcnceforlli  sung  the  praise  of  the  Lady  of 
Fay  el. 

Her  iiauio  was  Gabrielle,  and  she  was  a  daughter  of 
the  fine  old  family  of  De  Vergy.  As  a  very  young 
girl  she  had  married  the  grim  Chevalier  Aubert  de 
Fayel,  a  neighbour  of  Regnault's.  She  lived  there, 
year  by  year,  in  the  Castle  of  Fayel,  a  quiet,  sweet 
lady,  most  lovable  and  gentle, — a  faithful  wife,  and 
a  sedately  merry  companion  ; — a  little  staid,  probably, 
in  all  her  moods,  as  though  fearing  to  dare  too  careless 
a  joy,  a  little  sad  always,  as  though  weighted  down  by 
too  many  dreams  and  fancies.  It  is  said  that  she  was 
so  lovely  that  all  eyes  softened  on  beholding  her.  One 
old  poet  declares  that  her  "virtue,  gentleness,  chastity, 
amiability,  and  beauty  made  her  beloved  of  all  men." 

As  to  this  beauty  of  hers,  it  is  naturally  from  Coucy 
himself  that  we  have  the  most  individual  and  vivid  de- 
scriptions of  her. 

".  .  .  Her  face  is  charming,  the  face  of  a 
young  girl,  .  .  .  her  mouth  is  fresh  as  a  flower. 
Her  arms  are  beautiful,  her  throat  fair  and 
stately, — her  figure  is  supreme  grace.  .  .  .  Her 
wonderful  blue  e3^es  are  clear  and  sparkling,  yet  my 
Lady  is  all  pride.  ...  In  her  cheeks  bloom,  day 
by  day,  sweet  roses  and  lilies.     .     .     ." 

In  that  beautiful  and  poetic  letter  into  which  the 
old  romancer  put  a  distilled  essence  of  all  of  Coucy's 
loveliest  songs  we  find: 


PRAISE  OF  THE  LADY  OF  FAYEL     37 

"Your  heart,  most  sweet  lady,  is  like  the  purest  gold 
without  flaw.  .  .  .  You  are  a  diamond, — a  sap- 
phire,— a  red  rose.  .  .  .  You  are  all  that  is 
beautiful  and  good.  .  .  .  You  lead  man  to  glory, 
and  you  are  to  him  a  fountain  of  divinest  pity.  Dear 
and  beautiful  lady,  most  charming  and  most  noble  of 
women,  you  have  all  my  heart  and  my  service." 

Having  seen  Gabrielle  de  Fayel,  Coucy  most  natu- 
rally presented  himself  at  her  Castle  before  the  spring 
grew  old. 

The  same  old  romancer-historian  describes  the  first 
meeting  in  flowery  terms.  We  gather  that  the  Lady 
of  Fa}' el  stood  among  her  women,  dressed  in  a  rose-red 
gown — "neither  too  gay  in  colour,  nor  yet  too  pale," 
I — with  a  band  of  gold  upon  her  fair  hair,  and  that 
she  bowed  with  grace  and  gravity.  The  Chatelain 
bent,  low  before  her,  then,  lifting  his  head,  he  cried 
in  ringing  tones  the  wonderful  old  salutation: 
"Dieu  vous  donne  le  bonjour!  (God  give  you  happi- 
ness!)" 

Near  her  perhaps  stood  the  Demoiselle  Isabelle,  a 
cousin  of  Gabrielle's,  and  hor  chief  lady-in-waiting.  A 
fair  maid  and  a  loyal  was  Isabelle,  who  loved  her  kins- 
woman and  lady  with  her  whole  heart,  and  comforted 
her  much  in  the  days  of  sorrow  and  anxiety  which  were 
to  come.  And  surely,  on  that  spring  day,  the  brave 
esquire  Gobert  stood  not  far  away.  He  was  in  Au- 
bert  de  Fayel's  service,  but  loved  his  gentle  lady  bet- 


'i79r.i 


,>Mi.i 


38  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

ter  than  his  grim  lord,  and,  later,  gave  his  whole  alle- 
giance to  the  Chatelain  because  he  sang  the  praises  of 
Gabrielle,  and  brought  pleasure  into  her  life. 

Coucy  himself,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  time, 
must  have  been  magnificent  in  the  full  armour  and  rich 
cloak  that  became  his  rank.  His  horse,  too, — surely 
the  beast  gleamed  with  golden  trappings !  For,  be  it 
known,  in  those  days,  whatever  the  size  of  his  purse, 
a  high-born  Troubadour  must  ride  almost  as  finely 
caparisoned  as  a  king. 

I  think  that  it  was  among  the  first  days  of  their  new 
friendship  that  Regnault  composed  his  little  master- 
piece, his  "Quaint  li  louseignolz," — which  will  live 
always  among  the  gems  of  pure  lyric  song,  despite 
its  quaint  and  medieval  character : 

"When  the  magic  nightingale 

Sings  above  the  summer  sheen, 
When  the  rose  and  Uly  pale 

Shine  with  dew  amid  the  green, — 
I  should  sing  my  fervent  tale 

Of  the  bright  love  I  have  seen, 
But  mine  eyes  and  lips  do  fail, — 

I  have  dreamed  too  high,  I  ween  ! 
Heights  of  song, — ah  !  dare  I  scale 

In  the  service  of  my  Queen  ? 

•*Maddest  tellers  of  a  tale 
Are  my  wilful  eyes,  I  ween  ! 
I  may  strive  without  avail 
To  disguise  the  lovers'  mien. 
Ah  !  so  often  have  they  seen 


PRAISE  OF  THE  LADY  OF  FAYEL     39 

You  before  whom  sunsets  pale 
That  the  heights  I  dared  not  scale 

They  have  leaped  with  love,  my  queen  ! 
Eyes,  with  moon-struck  folly  wild. 
You  are  pardoned  :  for — she  smiled  !  " 

The  Chevalier  Aubert  de  Fayel  was  a  silent,  taciturn 
man,  just  and  brave  in  his  own  way,  and  not  too  narrow 
in  mind, — but  his  heart  lacked  freedom  and  generosity, 
and  he  had  forgotten,  if  he  had  ever  known,  the  ro- 
mance and  buo3'ancy  of  youth.  From  the  beginning  the 
admiration  which  perforce  he  gave  the  young  Trouba- 
dour was  of  a  grudging  nature.  He  could  not  under- 
stand the  pure  and  idealistic  adoration  which  Reg- 
nault  felt  for  Gabrielle,  nor  the  gracious  friendship 
which  she  granted  him,  and  his  gentle  songs  irritated 
the  wingless  soul  which  could  neither  fly  to  their  poetic 
heights,  nor  fathom  their  delicate  sweetness. 

When  Regnault  sang  among  the  dewy  garden- 
spaces  of  Fayel,  at  twilight,  and  the  Lady  listened,  her 
heart  moved  to  all  manner  of  soft  and  gracious  fancies  ; 
when  Isabelle,  too,  dreamed,  and  the  other  women  for- 
got to  chatter ;  when  Gobert  stood  spellbound,  and  the 
birds  ceased  singing  to  listen, — the  Chevalier  moved 
apart,  plunged  in  gloom.  He  hated  the  man  whom 
the  gods  had  so  lovingly  dowered,  and  he  was  growing 
more  and  more  jealous  of  his  poetic  devotion  to  Ga- 
brielle. 

The  Chatelain  had  a  thousand  quaint  conceits  and 
whimsical  ways,  and  his  delight  was  to  bring  a  smile 


40  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

into  his  Lady's  deep  eyes.  Sometimes  he  played  out 
miniature  dramas,  pretending  that  he  was  a  condemned 
prisoner,  and  praying  her  to  soften  his  sentence.  At 
such  times  he  sang  quickly  improvised  and  lightly 
wayward  songs,  as  graceful  as  they  were  quaint,  and 
she  listened  with  a  happy  pride  in  his  skill,  and  a  pleas- 
ure in  his  gentle  merriment. 

"Ah,  sweet  it  is  to  me  to  breathe  the  savour 
Of  these,  the  dear  new  days  that  waft  the  spring — " 

sang  the  Chatelain  softly,  as  he  touched  his  lute  among 
the  garden  shadows : 

"The  woods  and  fields  with  faint  bright  mists  a-waver. 
The  fresh,  green  grass  with  rose-pink  garnishing  ! 
But  I,  alas  !  with  all  the  season's  favour 
Still  kneel  before  my  lady  proud  and  fair, 
Whose  word  sweet  death  or  sweeter  life  may  bring. 
And  join  my  hands  in  broken,  yearning  prayer. 
Give  life — give  death  !   I  pray. — Yet  still  I  sing  : 
Since  both  in  life  and  death  song  makes  man  braver  !  " 

He  only  visited  Fayel  occasionally.  He  had  his 
own  gloomy  Castle  to  heed,  his  own  men-at-arms  and 
village-folk  to  care  for,  and  plenty  of  tourneys  in 
which  to  defend  the  honour  of  the  house  of  Coucy,  and 
to  bear  the  colours  of  the  Lady  Gabrielle.  Of  his 
visits  to  his  Lady  during  the  year  we  know  little,  but 
certain  it  is  that  no  spring  ever  blossomed  without 
finding  him  at  her  Castle  gate,  or  without  hearing  new 
songs  in  her  honour.     For  until  he  died  she  was  the 


PRAISE  OF  THE  LADY  OF  FAYEL     41 

star  of  whose  brightness  he  sang  without  ceasing,  with 
all  the  tender  sadness  and  rapturous  pain  of  the  born 
poet. 

But  the  Chevalier  de  Fayel,  as  time  passed,  grew 
more  and  more  bitter  in  his  dislike  of  the  Troubadour. 
And  at  last  his  wife  came  to  grieve  because  of  this, 
and  found  no  more  joy  in  the  companionship  of  her 
young  Knight.  So  Regnault  determined  suddenly  to 
disappear  from  Picardy,  and  to  continue  his  worship 
of  his  Lady  under  distant  skies. 

In  those  days  when  Knights  made  a  great  success 
or  a  great  failure  of  life  they  took  the  cross  and  went 
to  fight  the  Saracens  in  Palestine.  Regnault  was 
poorer  than  ever,  and  by  this  time  even  his  marvellous 
spirits  were  growing  weary.  There  was  nothing  to 
keep  him  in  France,  as  his  homage  was  a  source  of 
sorrow  to  his  beloved  Lady,  so,  together  with  his  uncle, 
the  Sire  Raoul,  and  his  young  cousin,  Raoul  de  Mal- 
voisin,  he  took  service  under  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion, 
during,  probably,  the  Third  Crusade. 

lie  paid  a  farewell  visit  to  Gabriellc,  and  promised 
her  his  eternal  devotion  and  service.  And  she  was 
filled  with  sadness  at  the  thought  of  parting  from  her 
poet.  She  said  that  he  must  wear  her  colours  in 
Palestine,  and  he  assured  her  that  he  would  always  do 
so.  Had  he  not  borne  them  with  honour  in  many  a 
great  tourney  in  France?  But  this  was  a  different 
occasion,   and,   dissatisfied   with   the  simple  scarf  he 


42  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

treasured,  she  took  a  dagger  and  cut  off  great  shining 
lengths  of  her  own  golden  hair.  This  she  braided  into 
a  bright  net,  and  ornamented  it  with  great  pearls  of 
price,  and  she  gave  it  to  him  with  a  prayer  for  his 
safety,  and  her  own  sweet,  fleeting,  half-sorrowful 
smile  for  his  adoring  memory. 

Coucy  fastened  the  golden  net  to  his  helmet,  and 
never  again  went  into  battle  without  its  shimmering 
glory  for  a  plume. 

With  a  gay  word  of  courage  and  good  cheer,  he  took 
leave  of  his  Lady,  and  rode  gallantly  away  from 
Fayel,  from  Picardy,  and  from  France  forever. 

A  poet  of  the  Middle  Ages  once  wrote  a  poem  on 
Gabrielle's  thoughts  of  Coucy  during  the  Wars  of 
the  Cross.     The  following  is  an  excerpt  from  it: 

"And  when  the  soft  winds,  ever  faintly  sighing, 

Steal  inward  from  that  far  and  desolate  place 
Where  he  may  now  be  fighting,  even  dying. 

Unto  that  side  I  turn  my  eager  face. 
And  then  it  seems,  my  fancy  fired  o'ermuch, 
On  my  grey  cloak  I  feel  his  passing  touch. 
Lord  God  !  when  with  the  cross  they  cry,  'Make  way  ! ' 

Succour  one  pilgrim  in  that  bitter  fight, — 
He  for  whose  soul  and  life  I  purely  pray  : 

God — from  the  Saracens  protect  my  Knight!" 

Coucy  dreamed  much  of  Gabrielle  during  his  travels 
and  battles,  and  cherished  a  secret  hope  that  stories  of 
his  brave  deeds  might  drift  back  to  Picardy,  and  in 
time  reach  her  ears.     The  old  chroniclers  make  much 


PRAISE  OF  THE  LADY  OF  FAYEL     43 

of  his  exploits,  and  in  their  apparent  pride  in  him, 
and  delight  in  his  prowess,  have  piled  fancy  upon  fact. 
Among  other  achievements  they  mention,  in  all  serious- 
ness, his  battle  with  a  fierce  and  dangerous  dragon, 
and  his  easy  conquest  of  that  demoniac  beast ! 

But  putting  all  legendary  embellishment  aside,  it  is 
certain  that  Regnault  de  Coucy  acquitted  himself 
superbly  during  the  wars  in  the  Holy  Land.  He 
was  well-loved  by  King  Richard,  and  fought  beside 
him  in  many  of  his  most  violent  battles.  It  was  at 
Acre, — that  memorable  and  historic  carnage-time, — 
that  all  three  kinsmen  were  killed  by  the  Saracens :  the 
old  Sire  Raoul,  young  Malvoisin,  and  our  Chatelain 
Regnault. 

A  poisoned  arrow  pierced  his  side,  and  Gobert, — 
who  had  left  the  Chevalier  de  Fayel  to  follow  his  for- 
tunes, and  loved  him  better  than  all  the  world, — was 
forced  to  tell  him  that  there  was  no  hope  for  life.  The 
Chatelain  lay  under  the  hot  Eastern  sun,  and  thought 
for  a  space,  and  then  he  called  to  him  once  more  his 
faithful  attendants,  Gobert  and  also  Hideux,  the  hum- 
blest of  his  servants,  but  not  the  least  devoted, — and 
gave  them  his  dying  commands. 

He  bade  them, — when  he  should  be  dead,  take  out 
his  heart  and  place  it,  together  with  the  net  of  golden 
hair,  in  a  jewelled  casket.  That  casket,  he  declared, 
they  must  carry  back  to  France  and  place  in  the  hands 
of  the  Lady  of  Fayel. 


44  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

The  old  historians  avow  that  he  wrote  a  letter  to  go 
with  it,  in  which  he  said: 

"Lady,  I  send  you  my  heart,  for  it  is  yours,  and 
belongs  to  you  by  right.  And,  Lady,  it  is  my  joy 
to  have  you  know  that  I  die  as  I  have  lived,  your  man, 
your  servant,  and  your  Knight." 

When  he  had  finished  his  directions  the  Chatelain 
whispered  brokenly :  "Gobert, — carry — my — fare- 
wells— to— my — Lady — ,"  and  closed  his  eyes.  The 
hot  blue  sky  of  Palestine  burned  splendidly  on,  and  all 
around  were  the  dead  and  dying  Crusaders  who  had 
carried  the  Cross  in  the  Siege  of  Acre. 

Gobert  and  Hideux,  faithful  to  the  least  wish  of  their 
dead  master,  carried  out  his  instructions  to  the  letter. 
Regnar.lt  was  buried  in  the  Holy  Land,  but  his  heart 
was  carried  home  to  Picardy,  resting  in  the  jewelled 
casket  with  the  net  that  was  made  of  Gabrielle's  yellow 
hair. 

Meanwhile  the  Chevalier  de  Fayel  grew  ever  more 
and  more  morose  and  suspicious.  His  wife's  frank 
sadness  over  the  dangers  to  which  the  Troubadour  was 
exposed  enraged  him,  and  that  most  gentle  lady  led 
a  bitter  life  during  the  years  of  the  Third  Crusade. 
Nevertheless,  she  was  always  loyal  and  courageous, 
and  tried  to  please  her  lord  in  all  things. 

Then  came  Gobert  with  worn  and  anxious  face, 
moving  secretly  about  the  Castle  garden,  waiting  for 
an  opportunity  to  enter  and  present  himself  before  the 


PRAISE  OF  THE  LADY  OF  FAYEL     46 

Lady.  He  carried  a  jewelled  casket,  and  with  as  much 
tenderness  as  though  it  were  his  own  heart  that  lay 
within  it. 

The  Chevalier  de  Fayel  saw  him,  recognised  the 
esquire  who  had  left  his  service  to  enter  that  of  the 
hated  Troubadour,  and  stopped  him.  Gobert  did  his 
best  to  avert  the  Chevalier's  suspicions,  but  was  finally 
forced  to  give  him  the  casket,  and  confess  his  errand. 

In  a  fury  over  this  last  appeal  to  his  wife's  sym- 
pathies on  the  part  of  the  dead  Chatelain,  Aubert  de- 
termined upon  a  hideous  punishment  for  her  interest 
in  the  minstrel.  He  gave  the  casket  to  his  cook,  bid- 
ding him  serve  the  heart  that  night  at  supper. 

The  dish  was  placed  before  Gabrielle,  who,  suspect- 
ing nothing,  tasted  it.  Whereupon  the  Chevalier,  un- 
able to  contain  himself  longer,  cried  out,  with  horrible 
triumph,  that  it  was  the  heart  of  Regnault  de  Coucy. 

When  she  understood  the  full  ghastly  truth,  Ga- 
brielle, with  a  quiet  solemnity  that  friglitened  her  hus- 
band, vowed  that  never  again  should  food  pass  her  lips. 

She  was  helped  to  her  apartments  by  her  women,  and 
never  left  them  again,  for  she  kept  her  vow  and  slowly 
starved  herself  to  death. 

She  was  so  dearly  loved  that  her  women  were  in  de- 
spair, and  after  a  space  even  the  Chevalier  came  to  her 
side  to  beg  her  to  live,  and  to  earnestly  pray  her  for- 
giveness. 

This  last  she  granted  freely,  saying  that  death  was 


46  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

too  close  to  permit  resentment,  but  no  power  could 
sway  her  from  her  determination.  She  lay,  becoming 
ever  paler,  with  the  mystery  of  a  new  life  growing  in 
the  sparkling  blue  eyes  of  which  Regnault  had  written 
so  adoringly. 

And  at  last,  with  one  of  her  Troubadour's  songs 
haunting  her  failing  memory,  and  perhaps  the  night- 
ingale he  had  loved  so  well  singing  his  broken  heart 
out,  among  the  dew-wet  flowers  of  her  garden,  the 
Lady  of  Fayel  died. 

She  was  widely  mourned,  and  it  is  stated  that  Aubert, 
the  grim  Chevalier,  never  smiled  again  in  the  few 
years  that  he  survived  her.  The  fate  of  Isabelle,  of 
Gobert,  and  of  Hideux  we  know  not.  It  is  certain  that 
their  time  of  mourning  ended  only  with  their  lives. 

So  lived  and  died  that  brave  and  gallant  Knight, 
Regnault,  Chatelain  de  Coucy,  and  his  high-born 
Lady,  Gabrielle  de  Fayel. 

It  is  many  years  since  they  wandered  among  the 
spring  flowers,  heard  the  passionate  nightingale,  and 
dreamed  day-dreams  together, — many  years  since 
Regnault  sang  and  Gabrielle  listened, — many  years 
since  he  fell  asleep  in  Palestine  and  she  in  Picardy. 
But  some  memory  of  them  remains,  sweet  and  fragrant 
as  meadows  in  May-time,  or  hedgerows  under  the  moon. 
It  is  not  only  in  the  tomes  and  records  that  the  Chate- 
lain lives  still, — it  is  in  all  the  fresh  growing  things 
that   come  again   each   spring.     At   that   season,   so 


PRAISE  OF  THE  LADY  OF  FAYEL     47 

beloved  by  him,  his  gentle  and  fearless  ghost  walks 
abroad,  among  the  white  pear-blossoms  and  silvering 
aspens,  and  sings  again  some  chanson  that  came  to 
him  in  that  old-world  time  in  Picardy : 

"The  wild,  sweet  nightingale  forever  singing 

Both  day  and  night,  outpouring  his  sad  heart. 
Sings  to  my  soul,  strange  solace  softly  bringing, 

Till  I,  too,  yearn  to  voice  the  wild- wood  art. 
So  must  I  do,  since  every  joy  or  smart 

Doth  pleasure  her  when  turned  to  music  ringing  ! 
Bearing  my  lance,  or  my  light  lute  new  stringing, 

I  ask  but  to  be  of  her  life  a  part." 


THE    DREAMERS 


AN  AIR  BY  WALTHER  VON  DER 
VOGELWEIDE 


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Ill 


THE  DREAMERS 


THEY  did  not  live  and  laugh  like  the  singers  of  the 
South;  they  only  dreamed,  and  touched  their  harp- 
strings  gently,  and  sang  grave,  soft  songs.  And  all 
their  songs  were  in  honour  of  pale,  remote,  lily-like 
women,  and  a  love  that  was  scarcely  more  than  a 
graceful  ghost  of  human  passion.  The  grey-blue  sky 
that  topped  the  hills  was  not  quieter  nor  more  free  from 
the  fever-heats  of  this  imperfect  life  than  their  music. 
For  these  were  the  Dreamers, — the  Minnesinger  of 
Germany. 

It  was  their  pride  that  they  had  purified  themselves 
from  all  earthly  desires  or  emotions,  and  that  their 
hearts  were  clean  alike  of  the  bewilderments  of  error, 
and  the  turbulence  of  those  world-calls  that  vi^ere  prone 
to  devastate  soul  and  body  if  one  should  hearken  to 
them.  Not  that  they  were  monkish  ascetics,  nor  un- 
manly cowards  afraid  of  themselves  and  life,  nor  yet 
fanatics  who  mortified  the  flesh.  They  could  tilt  a 
lance  with  the  hottest-headed  Proven9al  or  Spaniard 
who  ever  flung  down  a  glove ;  and,  dawning  upon 
dawning,  the  woods  echoed  with  the  blast  of  their  hunt- 


62  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

ing-horns.     Nay,    they    were    no    weaklings,    these 
Minnesinger :  only  Dreamers. 

A  great  struggle  had  been  taking  place  in  Ger- 
many between  Paganism  and  Christianity,  between  the 
old  material  deities  and  the  new  spiritual  God.  Pagan- 
ism, and  evil,  and  yielding  to  the  temptations  of  the 
earth,  had  all  become  bracketed  together  in  the  public 
mind.  The  Church  stood  for  purity  and  honour  and 
clean  living,  a  romance  that  could  be  impersonal,  and 
a  chivalry  that  was  far  from  gallantry.  With  the 
triumph  of  Christianity  the  revulsion  of  feeling  in 
honest  people's  hearts  caused  a  svidden  convulsive  ex- 
aggeration of  idealism ;  all  material  elements  were  re- 
garded with  suspicion,  and  chivalry,  knightliness, 
honour  and  love  came  to  mean  bloodless  shadows  from 
which  the  very  life  had  been  drained  away.  Such  ex- 
tremes are  inevitable  in  all  great  movements  for  prog- 
ress, and,  following  close  upon  the  sensuous, warm-hued 
Paganism  which  had  so  nearly  demoralised  the  coun- 
try, the  wave  of  reformation  was  bound  to  bring  upon 
it  an  idealism  as  extravagant  as  the  materialism  which 
had  been  conquered.  Upon  this  wave  floated  the  bark 
of  Song, — a  new  and  etherialised  song,  belonging  in- 
trinsically to  the  time  and  the  spirit  thereof;  and  the 
bark  was  manned  by  the  Minnesinger.  The  new  cult 
demanded  something  better  than  honest  humanity, 
something  as  Avhite  as  the  snow,  and  as  pure  as  the 
stars.     Which  seems  a  strange  and  sad  desire,  since 


THE  DREAMERS  53 

man  is  made  neither  of  chilled  vapour  nor  starshine, 
but  of  red  blood,  and  firm  fibres,  and  swift  pulses.  But 
the  Dreamers  knew  not  that  in  their  dreaming  they 
were  forgetting  how  to  live. 

And  if  you  believe  all  this  to  be  but  a  fanciful  way 
of  telling  old  tales,  go  you  to  the  books  that  hold  the 
verses  and  the  melodies  of  the  Minnesinger.  You  will 
find  there  many  graceful  lines  and  vague  sweet  airs,  all 
threaded  and  crossed  by  cobwebs  and  shadows  and 
trails  of  mist.  For  they  were  fashioned  from  visions 
and  phantasies,  and  their  makers  were  the  Dreamers  of 
Dreams. 

Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  wrote  a  song  on  "Love" 
one  day.  Never  was  poet  or  songster  yet  who  could 
keep  away  from  the  Universal  Theme  for  long.  We 
have  seen  how  the  South  treated  it.  Mark  you  now,  the 
way  of  the  Dreamer: 

'"Love  is  neither  man  nor  woman. 
Soul  it  hath  not,  nor  yet  body. 
And  no  earthly  sign  nor  token  ; 
Though  the  tongue  of  man  hath  named  it. 
Never  mortal  eye  hath  seen  it. 
Yet  without  it  can  no  creature 
Win  Heaven's  pitying  grace  and  favour  ; 
Nor  where  Love  is  will  there  linger 
Aught  of  fraud  or  baseness  ever. 
To  the  traitor,  the  false-hearted. 
Love  hath  come  not,  coraeth  never." 

The  following  poem  by  Heinrich  von  Morungen  is 
'Translation  by  Rev.  Sir  F.  A.  Gore  Ousely. 


54  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

one  of  the  simplest  and  loveliest  of  the  Dream  Songs ; 
as  well  as  one  of  the  most  typical : 

'"Faithful  ever  my  heart's  true  emotion. 

Yet  Love's  reward  to  me  was  pain  and  sorrow. 
Ever  since  my  childhood  have  I  worshipped 
Thine  image  fair,  in  true  love  still  adoring. 
My  heart's  enshrined  in  bitter  anguish. 
Yet  never  cry  from  me  has  reached  you  ; 
My  heart's  deep  emotion  have  I  stifled, 
And  every  shadow  of  my  sorrow  hidden. 
*  *  *  *  » 

Blessed  had  I  been,  how  far  more  blessed, 
Had  I  but  Heavenward  turned  my  devotion  !" 

Among  the  Minnesinger  was  one  who  found  a  mo- 
ment sufficiently  warmed  by  the  sunshine  of  summer  to 
write  a  really  delicious  song  on  a  girl's  tryst  with  her 
lover.  It  closes  in  a  manner  quite  out  of  the  usual 
Dreamer-style : 

'"With  foot  hurrying  and  heart  beating. 
Swift  I  hastened  to  the  meeting. 
Found  my  lover  waiting  there  ; 
My  true  love  was  there  before  me, 
And  he  clasped  me  and  bent  o'er  me. 
Till  I  thrilled  with  joy  and  fear. 
Did  my  lover  kiss,  you  said  ? 

Tra-lira-la  ! 
Nay, — why  are  my  lips  so  red?" 

We  do  not  even  know  the  name  of  this  Dreamer, 
and  cannot  help  feeling  that  he  was  a  most  inharmo- 
'Translation  by  Rev.  Sir  F.  A.  Gore  Ousely. 


THE  DREAMERS  55 

nious  element  among  the  pale  exaltations  of  his  fellow 
singers. 

Richard  Wagner,  that  lo3^al  German,  has  made  for 
us,  in  his  "Tannhiiuser,"  a  most  wonderful  tonal  and 
poetic  picture  of  the  Minnesinger.  Even  he,  with 
his  warm  humanity  and  splendid  wealth  of  artistic 
emotion,  made  no  attempt  to  vitalise  nor  solidify  the 
aerial  charm  of  the  Dreamers.  To  Walther  von  dcr 
Vogelweide,  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach  and  the  rest, 
Wagner  gave  music  as  sweet,  as  pure  and  as  unreal 
as  mountain  mists.  As  living  men  who  breathed,  suf- 
fered, and  loved  we  can  hardly  picture  them;  but  as 
Dreamers, — ah,  they  dreamed  most  marvellously  ! 

The  names  of  the  best  known  Minnesinger  are: 
Frederick  the  Red  (1152),  Spenogel  (1150),  Hein- 
rich  von  Beldeke  (llSi),  Ulrich  von  Lichenstein 
(1275),Hartmann  von  Ane,  Dietmar  von  Aest,  Kiircn- 
burger,  Nithart  von  Reunthal,  Gottfried  von  Strass- 
bourg,  Konried  von  Wiirzburg,  Friedebrandt,  Rein- 
mar  Hagenau,  Reinmar  der  Zweiter,  Heinrich  von 
Morungen,  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide,  and  Wolfram 
von  Eschenbach. 

The  Minnesinger  were  less  often  of  noble  birth 
than  the  Troubadours  of  the  South.  Serfs  as  well 
as  lords  had  been  swept  into  tlie  great  idealistic 
movement,  religion  and  feudalism  had  joined  hands, 
and  the  long-neglected  Folk-song  in  its  sublimated 
form  drew  all  its  exponents  to  a  common  lyrical  level. 


56  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

The  exercise  of  their  art  carried  the  Minnesinger  into 
court-life,  whatever  their  birth,  and  their  position  was 
always  an  honourable  one,  for  music  was  still  the  chief 
intellectual  interest  of  the  nobles.  But  many  of  the 
Minnesinger  were  men  whose  only  claim  to  recognition 
was  that  they  were  singers  of  songs. 

There  were  three  forms  of  Minnesanger:  the  Lied 
(Song),  Lerch  (Lay)  and  Dichtespruch  (Proverb). 
The  Minnelied  was  a  composition  of  three  parts,  the 
first  two  being  called  the  Stollen  (Stanzas)  or  Aufge- 
sang  (Opening  Song).  These  were  exactly  alike, 
metrically  and  melodically.  The  third  part  was  called 
the  Ahgesang  (After-song),  and  had  no  visible  nor 
audible  connection  with  the  first  Stollen.  It  bears  a 
very  faint  and  remote  resemblance  to  our  Refrain. 

The  Minnelerch  was  usually  a  careful  development 
or  adaptation  of  a  well-known  air, — sometimes  a 
church  chant,  and  occasionally  some  very  ancient 
dance-melody.  The  character  of  the  Minnelerch 
seems  a  bit  mysterious  and  obscure,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
and  appears  to  have  changed  its  colour  and  form  with 
every  variable  wind  of  the  Dreamers'  fancies. 

The  Dichtespruch,  or  Proverb,  was  a  fairly  clear 
form  of  composition,  albeit  not  particularly  interest- 
ing. Its  melody  was  definite  and  complete  as  a  rule, 
and  not  divided  into  separate  parts  like  the  Lied  and 
Lerch.  It  was  repeated  in  its  entirety  for  each  stanza, 
or  Strophe,  of  the  song,  and  if  the  composer  had  sub- 


THi:.  DREAMERS  57 

sequent  poems  to  set  to  music,  he  went  on  using  the 
melody  of  his  old  Spruch, — which  was  a  fine  and  sim- 
ple exhibition  of  musical  economy  !  The  character  of 
the  Spruch  was  usually  intensely  idealistic  and  deli- 
cately austere.  Spervogel's  ^^Frauenschone  (Wo- 
man's Loveliness)"  is  a  particularly  charming  Dichte- 
sprucli,  both  as  to  words  and  music : 

"Comes  a  woman,  pure  of  heart,  in  humble  dress. 
Gowned  in  simple  rloth,  yet  decked  in  loveliness, — 
Flowers  seem  swaying  in  her  grace. 
Sunshine  streams  from  out  her  face  ! 

And,  as  she  passe«,  all  the  modest  grace  of  May-time  bearing, 
What  eye  would  seek  the  woman  bold,  fine  stuffs  and  jewels 
wearing?" 

The  air,  which  cannot  be  given  entire,  as  it  is  rather 
a  long  one,  begins  in  this  way : 


;^r~r~r~,"~rfrr^'^^p=f=.?=r=^e^c.z 


Comesa     woman  pure  of    heart,  In    hum-bie    dress 

The  two  greatest  Minnesinger,  without  question, 
were  Walthcr  von  der  Vogclweidc  and  Wolfram  von 
Eschenbach, — both  so  familiar  to  the  musical  world 
through  Wagner. 

May  de  Rudder,  who  writes  with  so  much  sympathy 
and  understanding  of  the  period  of  the  Minnegesdnge, 
gives  the  following  description  of  the  great  minstrel 
Vogelwcide  as  portrayed  in  an  old  Heidelberg  manu- 
script : 

*'His  head  gently  drooping,  and  supported  on  his 


58  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

left  hand,  his  right  hand  holding  the  viol  used  for  ac- 
companiments, his  face  framed  in  his  short  beard,  and 
in  the  long  curling  hair  that  falls  upon  his  shoulders ; 
with  eyes  that  perpetually  dream:  so  does  he  appear 
before  us,  greeting  us  with  the  sweetest  and  frankest 
expression, — the  most  fascinating  of  all  Minnesinger 
and  the  greatest  lyric  poet  before  Goethe :  Walther  von 
der  Vogelweide.      .      .      ." 

He  was  born  in  the  manor  of  the  Vogelweide,  near 
Waidebruck,  in  Tyrol.  The  date  of  his  birth  is  not 
known,  but  it  was  between  the  middle  and  the  end  of  the 
twelfth  century.  His  family  was  an  old  and  noble 
one,  but  exceedingly  poor,  and  unable  to  live  in  a  man- 
ner suitable  to  their  rank.  The  boy  Walther  spent 
most  of  his  youth  out  of  doors,  wandering  in  the  woods, 
and  listening  to  the  birds.  His  love  for  them  has  be- 
come proverbial,  and  has  served  innumerable  poets  for 
a  theme.  He  was  known  to  declare  in  after  years  that 
his  lyric  gift  had  been  learned  from  the  birds  in  the 
forest  near  the  Vogelweide  Castle.  He  had  a  great 
longing  to  study  the  art  of  making  Minnegesange, — 
to  learn  the  "Singen  und  Sagen"  (as  it  was  called) 
that  constituted  musical  cultivation  at  that  time.  And 
when  he  was  not  quite  twent}^  years  old  he  journeyed 
to  Vienna  and  began  his  education  under  the  great 
master,  Reinmar,  known  as  Reinmar  der  Alte  (the 
Elder),  and  termed  by  one  enthusiast,  "The  nightin- 
gale of  Haguenau." 


THE  DREAMERS  59 

Walther  loved  his  master  dearly,  and,  on  Reinmar's 
death,  wrote :  "I  am  afflicted  to  know  that  thine  elo- 
quent speech  and  thy  most  sweet  song  have  so  quickly 
left  my  life,  and  that  I  shall  sec  thee  not  again  upon 
the  earth.  Most  willingly  would  I  go  with  thee ;  for 
I  have  no  will  to  sine;  lonsrer  here.      .      .      ." 

Frederick,  Duke  of  Austria,  who  had  been  the 
patron  of  Reinmar,  befriended  Walther  after  the  older 
master's  death,  but  was  killed  in  Palestine  in  1198, 
and  the  young  singer  was  left  to  his  own  resources. 

He  became  interested  in  political  and  religious  ques- 
tions, making  patriotic  Lieder  and  Dichtesprilche,  and 
quite  neglecting  the  gentler  branches  of  his  art. 

"The  German  race  surpasses  all  others," 

he  asserted,  aggressively,  in  one  Proverb : 

"The  men  are  aU  noble, 
The  women  are  all  beautiful  as  the  angels  ; 
Come  to  our  country  and  you  wiU  find  happiness. 
May  I  dwell  here  long!" 

This  was  Walther's  most  strenuous  period.  He 
soon  slipped  into  the  graceful  "chivalric  verses"  of 
the  day,  and  wrote  exquisite  poems  on  woods  and 
streams  and  choiring  birds.  In  1202  he  went  to  the 
Wartburg  near  Eisenach,  and  was  graciously  received 
by  Hermann,  Landgraf  of  Thuringia.  Hermann  was 
deeply  interested  in  all  art  and  culture,  and  made  his 
Court  a  meeting-ground  for  the  most  famous  Minne- 


60  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

singer  of  his  time.  There  Walther  met  fellow-poets, 
and  further  perfected  his  own  art.  Wolfram  von 
Eschenbach  made  a  deep  impression  upon  him,  and 
the  two  Minnesinger  became  and  remained  close 
friends. 

Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  lived  a  gentle,  peaceful, 
and  kindly  life,  but  at  heart  he  was  deeply  melancholy, 
as  all  true  Dreamers  are  apt  to  be.  He  it  was  who 
wrote : 

"He  who  seeks  happiness  here  below  loses  it  all." 
And  that  intensely  pessimistic  poem : 

"On  the  surface  the  world  is  beautiful, — white,  green,  and  red  ; 
At  the  bottom  it  is  black, — sombre  even  as  death." 

After  a  long  sojourn  among  men,  and  the  fashion- 
ing of  many  songs,  he  died  in  the  Monastery  of  Wiirz- 
burg  in  1230. 

They  say  that  before  he  died  he  begged  the  monks 
to  cover  the  stone  above  his  grave  with  crumbs  each 
day,  that  his  beloved  birds  might  never  be  hungi'y. 
Longfellow  has  written  a  poem  in  which  he  tells  of  the 
Abbot's  failure  to  comply  with  the  request,  from  mo- 
tives of  frugality. 

On  the  tomb  where  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  lies 
is  this  inscription: 

"Der  du  die  Vogel  so  gut,  O, 
Walther,  zu  Weiden, 

Verstandest !  " 


THE  DREAMERS  61 

Gottfried  von  Strassbourg,  in  his  preface  to  "Tris- 
tan," has  a  word  of  tribute  to  pay  to 

"    ...     Vogelweide, 
He  !     How  clearly,  across  the  meadows, 
His  vibrant  tones  resound  ! 
So  marvellous  was  his  song, — 
So  delicate  his  voice, — 
So  varied  and  beautiful  his  music!" 

Wolfram  von  Eschenbach  (sometimes  called  Eschel- 
bach)  was  born  in  Switzerland,  a  little  later  than 
Walther  von  der  Vogelweide.  His  master  in  song  was 
Friedebrandt, — a  musician  less  well  known  than  many 
of  the  jMinnesinger,  but  a  man  of  ability  notwith- 
standing. Wolfram's  musical  gifts  were  much  less 
marked  than  Walther's,  but  he  was  a  great  poet. 

After  travelling  all  over  Germany  he  finally,  in 
1200,  made  Hermann's  Court  his  permanent  head- 
quarters. There  he  sang,  and  dreamed,  and  passed 
long  tranquil  years. 

There  arc  records  of  a  famous  contest  between  Wol- 
fram and  a  certain  great  singer,  Klingsohr.  The 
Landgraf  had  offered  a  prize  to  the  winner,  and  it  was 
believed  that  Wolfram  would  easily  gain  it.  He  sang 
a  number  of  really  beautiful  religious  and  idealistic 
songs,  but  Klingsohr,  who  seems  to  have  been  less  of 
a  Dreamer  than  his  rival,  far  surpassed  him  in  romantic 
lyrics.  The  Landgraf  was  obliged,  albeit  regretfully, 
to  give  the  prize  to  Klingsohr. 


62  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Wolfram  excelled  in  poetry  which  demanded  an 
exalted  spiritual  vein  of  inspiration.  His  noblest 
work — that,  indeed,  through  which  he  has  a  fixed  and 
unapproachable  place  in  artistic  history, — was  the 
epic  poem  "Parzifal." 

"Not  only,"  says  Fetis,  "was  he  one  of  the  great 
song-writers  of  his  day,  but,  by  virtue  of  the  wealth 
of  his  imagination,  the  high  character  of  his  ideas,  and 
the  expression  and  elegance  of  his  style,  he  is  recog- 
nised as  one  of  the  genuine  Epic  Poets." 

He  was  made  Chevalier, — as  a  tribute  to  his  achieve- 
ments,— and  spent  much  of  the  latter  part  of  his  life 
in  travel.  His  ver3'^  last  days  were  passed  in  the  Swiss 
castle  where  his  ancestors  had  lived  and  died. 

All  who  knew  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach  had  a  word 
for  his  sweet  and  lovable  personality,  the  charm  of 
which  was  not  affected  by  a  certain  exaggerated  so- 
briety and  dreaminess. 

It  is  hard  to  say  which  of  these  two  was  the  most 
typical  Dreamer, — Walther  von  der  Vogelweide,  or 
Wolfram  von  Eschenbach.  Both  lived  in  a  mystic, 
cloud-shadowed  world,  where  music  flowed  in  faintest 
and  most  elusive  harp-tones,  and  a  radiance  of  other 
worlds  stole  in  through  walls  of  glowing  mist.  The 
sadness,  the  beauty,  the  mystery  of  things  touched 
them  both  profoundly, — but  of  bitter  and  unreasoning 
human  suffering  it  is  doubtful  if  they  understood  very 
much.    For  they  were  Dreamers  ; — not  sorely  tried  and 


THE  DREAMERS  63 

wofully  striving  men,  whose  tragic  glor}^  it  was  to 
laugh  over  their  own  defeats,  and  struggle  on  the  more 
stoutly  for  the  laughter, — but  merely  Dreamers. 
"Alas !  where  have  vanished  all  my  years?" 

asked  Walther  von  der  Vogelweidc,  in  one  of  his  songs : 
"Has  all  my  life,  then,  been  but  a  dream  ?  .  .  •  " 


THE   MONK   OF  READING  ABBEY 


THE  READING  ROTA 


K 


isz: 


W^ 


^ g= 


IltZCSZ 


cJ   ._a— 


Su  -  mer    is        i    -    cu  -   men    in, Lhu  -  de 


# 


"T^^ 


i=2t: 


i 


Sing    Cue  -  cu.       Grow-eth    sed,   and  blow  -  eth  med,  And 


^ISS 


f 


:2s= 


-^-v- 


-«'—- 


1^ 


springth  the     w  -   de    Nu,       Sing     Cue    -    cu,     Aw  -   e 


^^^ 


=2St 


m 


blet  -  eth     af    -    ter  Tomb,  Lhouth  af  -     ter     Cal   -   ve 


cu,       Bull  -  oc   stert  -  eth.  Buck  -  e     vert  ■  eth,  mu  -  rie 


-^=S 


izSi 


sing     Cue  -  cu,       Cue    ■    cu.        Cue    -     eu,        We)  song 


es      thy    Cue    -    cu;     Nu     swik  thu     nav  -  er      nu. 


IV 


THE    MONK    OF    READING    ABBEY 


THE  Monk's  name  was  John  of  Fornsete,  but  beyond 
this  the  modern  world  knows  little  of  his  personality 
and  private  life.  To  us  he  is,  first  and  foremost,  the 
man  who  wrote  "Sumcr  is  icumen  in,"  the  earliest 
piece  of  harmonic  music,  and  one  of  the  loveliest  of 
all  melodies, — somewhere  about  the  year  1226.  So 
little  indeed  is  known  authentically  about  John  of 
Fornsete  that  we  may  let  our  imaginations  have  a  free 
rein  concerning  him,  and,  whatever  we  may  determine 
as  to  his  life  or  his  individuality,  no  man  shall  rise  up 
and  call  us  inaccurate  nor  misinformed. 

The  date  of  his  birth  is  very  uncertain  and  proble- 
matical,— but  it  could  hardly  have  been  later  than 
1190.  Even  this  would  make  him  but  thirty-six  when 
he  wrote  his  Canon,  and  the  monastic  records  show 
that  at  that  time  he  was  already  a  man  of  learn- 
ing and  achievements.  The  truth  concerning  his 
antecedents  will  probably  be  forever  wrapped  in  equal 
mystery.  A  few  writers  insist  upon  calling  him  John 
Farnsct, — an  error  for  which  it  is  difficult  to  account 


66  MAKERS  OF  SONC 

in  the  light  of  the  many  existing  records  and  authori- 
ties,-— but  it  is  conclusivelji  proved  that  his  correct 
title  was  John  of  Fornsete.  The  little  word  "of"  is 
our  only  clue  as  to  his  station  or  circumstances,  and 
though  that  might  mean  several  different  things,  we 
will  assume  the  most  probable  explanation  of  its  pres- 
ence. 

"Of  Fornsete,"  might  mean  that  he  was  born  in 
some  lonely  hamlet  of  Berkshire  named  Fornsete,  or 
that  he  grew  up  under  the  protection  of  some  great 
feudal  lord,  some  Earl  of  Fornsete,  of  an  extinct 
nobility,  whose  serfs  and  vassals  went  by  his  name. 
Reasoning  thus  from  a  purely  hypothetical  basis,  we 
may  include  the  former  under  the  latter  supposition, 
and  fancy  our  hero  as  coming  from  the  feudal  village 
Fornsete,  where  a  great  lord  held  sway,  levied  taxes, 
and,  perhaps,  in  a  sporadically  generous  mood,  singled 
out  some  one  of  the  more  gifted  of  his  young  serfs  to 
be  educated.  In  England,  as  in  France,  the  Bene- 
dictine and  Augustine  monasteries  were  the  only 
schools,  and  so  it  happened  that  the  boy  John  was 
sent  to  the  Abbey  of  Reading. 

One  cannot  help  having  an  idea  that  he  was  not  a 
typical  monk, — for  we  know  that  he  had  a  sympathetic 
ear  for  melodies  that  over-reached  the  ascetic  limits  of 
the  Church  music  of  the  day,  and  that  he  had  a  whole- 
some love  of  the  brown  earth  and  all  the  fresh  green- 
ness of  out-of-door  England.     It  is  probable  that  he 


THE  MONK  OF  READING  ABBEY  69 

was  a  very  normal  English  bo3sand  it  is  not  improbable 
that  his  novitiate  was  a  long  and  much  broken  one. 
Perhaps  he — like  a  certain  French  youth  of  whom  you 
will  hear  later, — broke  the  rules  occasionally,  and  ran 
away.  I  think  he  must  have  known  what  it  was  to 
dance  on  the  grass  with  some  clear-eyed  village  girl, 
to  the  sound  of  the  bagpipes  and  lusty  country  voices  ; 
and  it  is  certain  that  he  rambled  in  the  woods  at  dawn- 
ing time,  when  the  world  was  wet  with  dew  and  green 
with  spring.  But  however  this  may  have  been,  in  time 
he  pulled  his  cowl  closer  over  his  eyes,  and  turned  his 
back  on  the  good,  gay  world  forever. 

Originally  Reading,  or  Reding,  meant  the  home  of 
the  descendants  of  Red, — a  man's  name.  Some 
"prehistoric  Briton,"  we  must  suppose,  founded  the 
little  Berkshire  town,  and  so  it  became  permanently 
known  by  his  name.  It  lies  twenty-nine  miles  south- 
west of  London,  on  the  river  Kennet,  just  before  it 
enters  the  Thames.  Reading  was  the  headquarters  of 
the  Danes  at  the  time  of  their  famous  inroad  on  Wes- 
sex  in  the  year  871,  and  the  scene  of  certain  of  their 
subsequent  defeats.  It  was  burned  by  them  in  1006, 
and  taken  by  the  Earl  of  Essex,  under  a  Parliamentary 
decision  in  164'3.  So  it  is  clear  that  Reading  has 
played  its  part  in  history,  and  it  seems  a  pity  that  it 
should  be  chiefly  celebrated  to-day  for  its  manufac- 
tories, and  for  the  fine  hunting  possibilities  of  its  sur- 
rounding country !     But  there  are  certain  wonderful 


70  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

old  ruins  to  be  seen  there  still, — the  ruins  of  the  great 
Benedictine  JNIonastery,  Reading  Abbey,  the  home  of 
John  of  Fornsete. 

In  the  monasteries  of  those  mediaeval  times  were  cen- 
tred all  the  embryo  beginnings  of  learning.  The 
seeds  of  art,  music  and  literature  were  sown  and  cher- 
ished within  the  cloister  walls,  and  the  "Men  of  God" 
held  in  their  hands  the  first  feeble  shoots  of  all  that  we 
now  term  culture  and  education. 

While  the  Church  has  never  been  swift  to  welcome 
the  progress  that  comes  with  the  changing  of  old 
orders,  she  has  unwaveringly  protected  such  institu- 
tions as  were  tested  and  proven  worthy  of  her  support. 
She  has  never  encouraged  the  step  forward,  but  she 
has  alM^ays  prevented  the  step  backward.  So,  a  re- 
straining but  a  sustaining  power,  she  has  been  almost 
the  greatest  of  all  factors  in  the  development  of  the 
most  liberal  and  unconventional  forms  of  art. 

A  knowledge  of  the  science  of  counterpoint, — the 
mathematics,  rhetoric,  and  even  spelling  of  music, — 
was  confined  entirely  to  the  religious  orders.  Only  the 
Folk-song, — fresh,  spontaneous  but  usually  ephemeral, 
— existed  outside  monastic  boundaries.  All  the  endur- 
ing elements  of  music  were  fostered  and  preserved  by 
the  learned  brothers,  of  whom  John  of  Fornsete  was 
one. 

These  faithful,  scholarly,  patient  men  of  Reading 
Abbey !     One's  heart  goes  out  to  them  as  one  studies 


THE  MONK  OF  READING  ABBEY     71 

the  narrowness  of  their  Hves,  the  sternness  of  their  dis- 
ciphnc,  the  finigality  of  their  comforts.  Yet  they 
seem  to  have  been  genial  souls  for  the  most  part,  de- 
spite much  fasting,  more  silence,  and  so  little  sleep 
that  one  becomes  sympathetically  drowsy  in  thinking 
of  them! 

"Let  ]\Ionks  praise  God  seven  times  a  day," — was 
the  unvarj'ing  rule  and  command  of  all  the  Orders. 
This  meant  no  perfunctory  devotions,  slipped  in  be- 
tween worldl}^  duties,  but  definite  and  rather  lengthy 
services,  performed  with  care  and  reverence,  and  al- 
ways promptly  upon  the  prescribed  moment.  The 
first  service  was  "at  cock-crowing."  The  second  was 
Matins  (or  Mattins,  as  the  old  books  have  it) — at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  third  at  nine,  the  fourth  at 
noon,  the  fifth  at  three,  the  sixth, — Vespers, — at  six, 
and  the  last  at  seven,  when  the  Completory  was  sung, 
and  the  monks  were  permitted  to  think  of  slumber. 
They  counted  time  somewhat  differently,  by  the  bye, — 
six  in  the  morning  being  "First  hour,"  and  six  at 
night  "Twelfth  hour."  The  hours  of  the  night,  being 
spent  in  sleep,  were  not  counted  at  all.  There  are, 
however,  records  that  show  that  "early  prayer  unto 
God  in  the  Highest"  began  at  two  in  the  morning. 
For  special  seasons  and  occasions  there  were  all-night 
vigils  to  be  observed,  so,  though  the  monks  went  to  bed 
soon  after  sundown,  they  were  never  permitted  in  all 
their  religious  lives  one  full  night's  sleep, 


72  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

They  always  fasted  on  Wednesdays  and  Fridays 
until  three  in  the  afternoon,  and  in  Lent  no  mouthful 
of  food  was  permitted  to  pass  their  lips  until  after  six 
each  night.  An  exception  to  the  rules  of  fasting  was 
made  from  Easter  until  Whitsuntide,  when  they  were 
moderately  well  fed.  Truly  there  was  wisdom  in  the 
old  monastic  rule :  "Let  the  Cellarer  be  a  discreet  man, 
to  give  all  their  meat  in  due  season !"  Discretion 
would  indeed  seem  to  be  an  essential  qualification  for 
the  holder  of  this  office.  The  meagre  allowances  of 
food  doled  out  by  the  "discreet"  Cellarer  were  taken 
"in  company  but  without  speech."  Indeed  silence  was 
one  of  the  most  all-pervading  requirements  of  the 
monasteries, — both  as  a  gurantec  of  decorum  and  as 
an  inspiration  to  devout  meditation. 

Sometimes,  to  be  sure,  some  merry  brother  would 
whisper  a  joke  or  a  funny  tale,  and  the  grim  Refec- 
tory would  thrill  with  repressed  laughter.  Some- 
times the  rule  making  it  unseemly  that  the  Prior  or 
Abbot  sit  alone  at  meat,  gave  opportunities  for  a  gay 
interchange  of  worldly  amenities  between  the  Reverend 
Father  and  some  favoured  one  of  the  Brethren. 
And  sometimes  the  quietly  shadowed  old  monastery 
gardens  heard  the  stories  of  dead  days,  softly  told  by 
the  monks  who  paced  there  during  recreation  hours. 

But  for  the  most  part  the  monastic  world  was  a 
dumb  one, — a  lake  of  stillness,  landlocked  from  the 
beating  waves  of  the  big  world-sea  outside.     There 


THE  MONK  OF  READING  ABBEY  73 

among  the  dark  blue  shadows,  the  incense  clouds,  as 
faintly  mauve  as  twilight  mists,  and  the  cold,  grave 
measures  of  the  church  chants,  the  Men  of  God  lived 
out  their  lives.  There  they  worked  silently  upon  the 
wonderful  missal-pages  one  day  to  be  treasured  as 
relics  of  ancient  art,  or  set  down  blue  and  crimson 
notes  laboriously,  immortalising  some  quaint  old  psalm- 
tune, — or  merely  prayed,  in  dingy  robes  growing  ever 
dingier  about  the  knees  from  over-much  kneeling  on 
the  rough  stones  of  the  chapel. 

Now  the  early  Britons,  report  and  common  belief 
to  the  contrary,  were  intensely  musical.  One  mediaeval 
Avriter  declares:  "There  lived  good  singers  in  Eng- 
land, and  they  sang  sweetly  ;  such  as  Masters  Johannes 
Filius  Dei,  Maklevit  of  Winchester,  and  Blakesmit  at 
the  Court  of  Henry  II."  Frederic  Louis  Ritter,  after 
quoting  the  above,  adds  that  John  of  Fornsete  be- 
longed to  the  same  epoch  and  category.  So  we  see 
that  he  was  a  famous  musician  in  a  land  which  boasted 
many  excellent  exponents  of  music,  and  in  a  day  when 
it  held  a  rarely  higli  place  in  the  appreciation  of  the 
public. 

The  British  people  sang  witli  the  spontaneity  and 
instinct  of  birds,  as  the  Welsh  people, — those  insistent 
remnants  of  the  old  race, — do  to-day.  And,  curiously 
enough,  they  always  sang  in  harmony.  Instead  of 
singing  their  folk-songs  as  single  and  simple  melodies, 
they  made  rounds,  catches  and  chorals  out  of  them. 


74  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

They  struck  the  chords  by  ear  of  course,  not  knowl- 
edge, and  loved  the  gracious  combinations  of  notes. 
Even  the  children  tried  to  sing  contrapuntally — and 
sometimes  succeeded,  too ! 

Giraldus  Cambrensis, — or  Gerald  Barry, — the  fa- 
mous Archbishop, — made  an  elaborate  Latin  record  of 
this  custom  of  the  British  people,  to  this  effect: 

"The  Britons  do  not  sing  their  tunes  in  unison  like 
the  inhabitants  of  other  countries,  but  in  different 
parts.  So  that  when  a  company  of  singers  meets  to 
sing,  as  is  usual  in  this  country,  as  many  different 
parts  are  heard  as  there  are  singers,  who  all  finally 
unite  in  consonance  and  organic  melody,  under  the 
softness  of  B  flat." 

Just  what  the  learned  Archbishop  meant  by  "the 
softness  of  B  flat"  the  author  (with  many  regrets  for 
the  admission )  frankly  does  not  know  ! 

"In  the  northern  parts  of  Britain,"  he  continues, 
",  .  .  the  people  there  inhabiting  make  use  of  a 
kind  of  symphonic  harmony  in  singing. 
This  they  do  not  so  much  by  art  as  by  a  habit  which 
long  practice  has  rendered  almost  natural ;  and  this 
method  of  singing  is  become  so  prevalent  amongst 
these  people  that  hardly  any  melody  is  accustomed  to 
be  uttered  simply  or  otherwise  than  variously,  or  in 
this  twofold  manner.      ..." 

Where  this  instinct  for  correct  harmony  was  born 
so  naturally  in  the  hearts,  as  well  as  on  the  lips,  of  the 


THE  MONK  OF  READING  ABBEY     75 

people,  it  is  not  strange  that  we  should  find  the  first 
recorded  piece  of  polyphonic  or  harmonic  music  in  all 
history.  Scattered  folk-songs  we  have  from  other 
lands ; — plaintive  airs  from  Picardy  and  Provence, 
melodies  gay,  amorous  and  mournful, — sad  and  merry 
echoes  from  the  heart-music  of  many  lands  ;  but,  so  far 
as  recorded  notation  may  testify,  the  Cradle  of  Har- 
mony seems  to  have  been  England. 

"Sumer  is  icumen  in"  bears  the  test  of  modern 
fineness  of  ear.  Its  harmonies  are  full  and  round, 
never  stiff,  and  rarely  even  archaic.  A  song  of  to- 
day, simply  harmonised  without  elaboration  or  tonal 
decoration,  would  be  a  brilliant  achievement,  if  it 
reached  the  point  of  musical  excellence  attained  by 
this  quaint  old  English  Canon.  Even  the  consecutive 
fifths, — bugbears  of  benighted  Harmony-students, — 
arc  used  here  with  the  splendid  frankness  of  a  modern 
master  who  wishes  to  show  his  superiority  to  the  terrors 
of  all  such  musical  hobgoblins. 

But  the  fact  of  the  harmonic  value  of  the  "Reading 
Rota,"  as  it  is  called,  is  too  well  established  to  require 
reiteration.  The  real  purpose  of  this  fragmentary 
commentary  is  to  record  a  plea  for  its  recognition  as  a 
great  step  in  the  growth  of  melody, — a  monument  in 
the  history  of  Song. 

"Sumer  is  icumen  in"  is  most  definitely  and  dis- 
tinctly lyric.  Its  singing  and  singable  quality  is 
much  more  patent  to  the  casual  hearer  than  its  bar- 


76  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

monic  or  contrapuntal  ingenuity.  It  is  first  and  fore- 
most a  song, — and  a  delicious  one. 

Moreover,  as  we  have  seen  that  the  early  English 
folk  sang  all  their  songs  in  Canon-form,  it  has  a 
doubly  emphasised  right  to  be  accepted  as  one  of  the 
great  representative  or  typical  songs  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  And  the  man  who  either  composed  it,  or 
merely  wrote  it  down,  deserves  to  be  called  a  Maker  of 
Song, — even  though  we  have  no  more  of  his  recorded 
work  to  substantiate  the  title. 

Ritter  says  that  "the  melody  of  the  Rota  is  in  the 
form  of  a  ballad,  and  is  pleasing  and  easily  flowing." 
Emil  Naumann  declares  :  "The  character  of  the  melody 
is  sweet  and  pastoral,  and  well  adapted  to  the  words." 
W.  S.  Rockstro,  after  speaking  of  the  naive  and  de- 
lightful old  folk-songs,  says :  "We  believe  the  melody 
of  the  Rota  to  be  an  inspiration  of  this  kind, — a  Folk- 
Song,  pur  et  simple.  .  .  ."  Indeed  most  of  the 
learned  men  who  have  commemorated  the  importance 
of  the  Rota  as  a  harmonic  record,  wax  enthusiastic 
over  its  melody.  And  Mr.  Rockstro  makes  the  fol- 
lowing charming  suggestion  as  to  its  possible  origin : 

".  .  .  What  more  probable,  then,  than  that  a 
light-hearted  young  Postulant  should  troll  it  forth  on 
some  bright  May  morning,  during  the  hour  of  recre- 
ation.'' That  a  second  voice  should  chime  in  a  little 
later  ?  That  the  effect  of  the  Canon  should  be  noticed, 
admired,  and  experimented  upon,  until  the  Brethren 


THE  MONK  OF  READING  ABBEY  77 

found  that  four  of  them  could  sing  the  tune,  one  after 
the  other,  in  very  pleasant  harmony?      .      .      ." 

The  music  is  written  in  queer  square  notes  of  red 
and  black  upon  blue  lines,  and  the  entire  piece  of  work 
is  done  with  the  care  and  skill  which  we  should  expect 
from  a  learned  Ecclesiastic  of  John  of  Fornsete's  high 
place  in  the  monastic  chronicles/  In  the  beautiful 
old  manuscript  there  is,  directly  following  the  "Six 
Men's  Song"  (as  a  Canon  like  "Sumer"  was  called)  a 
quaint  Antiphon  in  praise  of  Thomas  a  Becket. 

Of  course  they  turned  the  Rota  into  a  piece  of 
church  music, — the  good  monks !  Nothing  so  rio- 
tously secular  as  a  brazen  song  of  summertide  could 
be  recognised  or  recorded  in  the  Monastery  without  its 
due  appendage  of  religious  phrases. 

The  old  English  words  are  as  follows : 

"Sumer  is  icumen  in, 

Lhude  sing  cuccu. 
Groweth  sed,  and  bloweth  raed. 
And  springth  the  wde  nu, 

Sing  cuccu. 
Awe  bleteth  after  lorab, 
Lhouth  after  calve  cu  ; 

Bulluc  sterteth, 

Bucke  verteth, 
Murie  sing  cuccu, 

Cuccu,  cuccu, 
Wei  songes  tha  cuccu  ; 
Ne  swik  thu  naver  nu." 

'A  fac-siraile  of  the  original  manuscript  can  be  seen  in  Grove's 
Dictionary  of  Music  and  Musicians,  Vol.  IV.  (new  edition).    The 


78  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Or  translated  into  modern  phraseology : 

"Summer  is  come  in. 

Loud  sing  cuckoo. 
Groweth  seed,  and  bloweth  mead. 
And  springeth  the  woodland  now. 

Sing,  Cuckoo. 
The  ewe  bleateth  for  her  lamb, 
For  her  calf  loweth  the  cow  ; 

The  bullock  starteth. 

The  buck  averteth, 
Merry  sing.  Cuckoo. 

Cuckoo,  Cuckoo. 
Well  sung  is  thy  Cuckoo, 
Cease  thou  never  now!' 


i»» 


Under  these  delightful  old  lines  the  good  monks 
of  Reading  have  written  in  with  painstaking  care  the 
following  devout  Latin  stanzas : 

"Perspice  christicola 
Quae  dignatio 
Coelius  agricola 
Probitus  vitio. 
Filio  non  parceus 
Exposuit  mortis  exitio 
Qui  captivos 
Semivivos 
A  supplicio 
Vitae  donat 
Et  secum  coronat 
In  coeli  soUo." 

Canon,  complete  in  all  its  parts,  and  reproduced  in  modern 
notation,  can  be  seen  in  the  musical  histories  of  Naumann, 
Barney,  and  others. 


THE  MONK  OF  READING  ABBEY     79 

There  are  appended,  also,  some  Latin  directions  as 
to  the  correct  singing  of  the  Canon.  Somehow  the 
churchly  Latin  has  an  odd  effect  when  set  to  the  buoy- 
ant air  of  that  sweet  old  Round.  Will  some  inquisi- 
tive reader  please  hum  over  to  the  melody  a  line  or  two 
of  the  Latin  text.^*  In  doing  so,  I  think  he  will  be 
filled  with  a  desire  to  chuckle, — even  as  many  an  irrev- 
erent and  irrepressible  young  chorister  chuckled, 
doubtless,  when  the  monks  sang  the  Canon  at  Mass, — 
and  even  as  the  good  ]\Ionk  John  chuckled,  albeit  very 
softly,  over  its  devout  rendering. 

For  the  Rota  had  no  place  nor  right  in  ecclesiastical 
music.  So  rigid  were  the  rules  controlling  the  re- 
ligious composition  in  those  days, — rules  built  upon 
the  noble  but  uncompromising  work  of  the  great  Guido 
d'Arezzo, — that  it  was  not  permissible  to  write  Church 
music  outside  of  what  was  known  as  the  Ecclesiastical 
Scale.  All  music  which  overstepped  this  strict  and 
monotonous  limit  was  considered  inspired  by  the  Devil, 
and  was  accounted  written  in  II  modo  lascivo,- — the 
Wanton  Key.  And  let  it  here  be  whispered:  "Sumer 
is  icumen  in"  was  written  in  the  Wanton  Key ! 
The  Wanton  Key,  wherein  the  evil  player-folk 
sang,  while  their  women  danced  and  twirled  about 
the  market-place,  and  the  ungodly  went  to  gape 
and  listen !  The  Wanton  Key,  wherein  the  un- 
shriven  vagabonds  of  the  highroads  carolled  their 
drinking-catches,  as  they  stopped  for  a  flagon  of  mead 


80  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

when  the  dusk  chilled  the  air!  The  Wanton  Key, 
wherein  young  men  and  maidens  sang  love  songs  in 
secret  wood  ways  under  the  green  and  silver  sickle- 
moon !  The  Wanton  Key,  wherein  mother-birds  and 
mother-women  trilled  lullabies,  when  mating-time  was 
over  and  the  ^^oung  had  come. 

Moreover  the  "P^s,"  or  ground-bass,  of  the  Canon 
bears  a  suspicious  resemblance, — as  more  than  one 
musical  savant  has  pointed  out, — to  the  droning  bag- 
pipe dearly  beloved  by  the  rustics  of  those  days.  Is 
it  possible  that  our  John  of  Fornsete,  laughing  in  the 
shabby  sleeve  of  his  Order,  wrote  in  that  drone-bass 
to  imitate  the  instrument  so  popular  over  all  the  coun- 
try side.?  If  so,  one  can  picture  the  merry-eyed  boys, 
sent  to  the  Monastery  for  education  and  safe-keeping, 
nudging  each  other  as  they  hummed  and  buzzed  away 
at  the  long  sustained  Pes,  and  trying  to  catch  the 
eye  of  the  gentle,  grave-faced,  humorous  Monk  who 
was  responsible  for  it ! 

What  manner  of  man  was  he,  this  John  of  Forn- 
sete? It  is  a  baffling  query,  which  the  curious  mind 
puts  to  the  unyielding  past.  He  was  a  learned  man, 
called  a  Descanter  among  his  Brethren,  and  skilled  in 
the  setting  down  of  notes,  in  tints  that  should  out- 
last the  centuries,  and  in  combinations  that  should 
stir  the  pulses  of  unborn  cycles  of  musicians.  He  was 
a  man  very  young  in  heart,  of  a  surety,  since  he  could 
put  the  summer-call  of  all  England  and  all  the  world 


THE  MONK  OF  READING  ABBEY  81 

into  a  few  square-shaped  notes  of  red  and  black  on  bars 
of  blue.  And,  perhaps,  he  was  a  man  with  a  sense 
of  humour — if  he  suffered  the  Brethx-en  to  sing  in  the 
Wanton  Key,  and  imitate  the  village  bagpipes  at  High 
Mass ! 

Berkshire  was  a  wide-sweeping  level  country,  and 
the  flat,  clean  spaces  stretched  off*  to  the  sky-line, — 
broken  here  and  there  by  woodlands,  and  dappled 
with  sun-flecks  and  cloud-shadows.  The  winds  blew 
keen  and  cool  from  the  wholesome  north,  and  there 
was  a  freshness,  a  tang,  and  a  grip  in  the  free  air, 
fit  to  breed  sound  hearts  and  rich  blood  and  the  fine 
fruition  of  a  fine  race. 

Yet  in  the  Monastery  it  was  as  though  a  stone  cup 
had  been  pressed,  rim  downward,  upon  the  green  earth ; 
and  in  the  vacuum  within  dwelt  the  monks  of  Read- 
ing,— and  John  of  Fornsete  among  them.  I  think 
he  was  given  to  dreaming  a  bit, — oftener  than  the 
other  Brethren,  oftener  perhaps  than  were  quite  wise 
in  the  godly  servant  of  a  strict  Order.  Surely  he  had 
visions  and  memories,  that  came  thronging  and  flutter- 
ing like  butterflies  through  the  chapel  nave,  with 
iridescent  hues  that  blurred  the  brightness  of  the  altar- 
lights,  and  a  faint  soft  whirr  of  wings  that,  in  tremu- 
lous music,  dulled  the  sound  even  of  his  own  sweet 
Canon.  Surely  there  were  twilights,  when  the  Com- 
pletory  was  yet  to  sing,  through  the  purple  dusk,  when 
life  cried  to  him  with  elfin  voices  from  beyond  the 


82  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Monastery  walls ;  and  chill  white  dawns,  when,  as  he 
chanted  the  first  service,  he  shivered  yearningly,  hear- 
ing, above  the  monotone  of  the  Latin  prayers,  the  com- 
fortable din  of  crowing  cocks  in  neighbouring,  alien 
hamlets. 

It  is  all  there  in  his  song, — the  blithe  and  tender  sym- 
pathy with  quickening  nature  and  the  warming  earth, 
with  love,  and  longing,  and  the  rapture  of  fulfilment. 
The  bird's  call  and  the  heart's  leap, — they  are  both 
to  be  found  in  that  first  and  sweetest  of  English  songs, 
that  fragrant,  opalescent  fragment  of  a  dream  of  the 
young  Summer,  dreamed  over  seven  hundred  years 
ago. 

Among  the  mists  of  the  dead  centuries  he  passes, 
John  of  Fornsete, — a  cowled  and  habited  figure,  with 
averted  eyes.  We  may  not  see  his  face,  we  may  not 
know  of  his  birth,  nor  of  his  death, — least  of  all  of  his 
cloistered  life.  We  can  only  smile  with  him  in  spirit, 
as  we  sing  the  melody  of  his  Rita  softly  to  our  own 
hearts,  and,  in  the  singing,  smell  the  warm,  dew-wet 
grass,  and  hear  the  cuckoo  singing  through  the  wak- 
ing woods. 


KING    THIBAULT,    THE 
TROUBADOUR 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  KING 


;l^ 


4  I 


I  L 


As  I        rode      ere         dawn    was     wing  -  ing, 


c:^l       1         1            -^ 

r^ — \ r-i 

^^— - — r — f— 

-^ — '—^—f—r- 

-* m si 

^^    1      '      ^ 

'Twixt  an      or  -  chard  and     a    grove,       I       a     shepherd  - 


p#g_^        ^=^ 

._4 1        ,        , 

1 J   I  J   1 

-4) — r-  r  r  r- 

E-      r  1^ 

_* — « — «) — 

ess  heard  sin :  ■  ing,  And  her  song  was    all     of     love. 


f 


^ 


=il==-«= 


e=aci 


-» — r- 


Thus    he  -  gau    the  maid  en's    lay:   "Love  doth  bind  me 


ten  -  der  -  ly!"  All   my    heart  beat  high  and     free,. 


^ 


^ m ff_«i_ 


3= 


5=t 


-* *- 


, i ■».: — I <—f 1 ^^^t""" i — 

And       1      cried,   by  hope  made  gay,...    From  my    horse's 


i 


W 


-^=9Z 


itSit 


38 ,- 


-JS.^—f^ 


'a.Szac 


5-3=1= 


back  swift  springing,  "Fret- ty     one,  good -day      to    thee!" 


V 


KING    THIBAULT,    THE 
TROUBADOUR 


ONCE  upon  a  time  there  lived  a  beautiful  and  bril- 
liant lady  for  whom  the  Troubadours  of  the  Midi  sang 
their  songs,  and  to  Avhom  all  men  paid  homage  ;  and  she 
was  called  Blanche  of  Navarre.  Her  father  was 
Sanclio  the  Strong,  King  of  Navarre,  and  her  hus- 
band was  Thibault  III.,  the  great  and  good  Count  of 
Champagne  and  Brie.  And  she  was  the  mother  of 
that  Thibault  whom  the  world  knows  as  the  greatest  of 
Troubadours.  Now  the  Comte  de  Champagne,  Thi- 
bault III.,  died  soon  after  his  son  was  born,  and  the 
bo}^  became,  in  his  turn,  Count  of  the  great  estates  of 
Champagne  and  of  Brie.  And  the  Comtesse,  his  lady- 
mother,  betook  herself  to  the  Court  of  King  Philippe 
Auguste,  and  there  dwelt  for  the  years  of  her  widow- 
hood. So  it  happened  that  our  Thibault  spent  his 
childhood  at  the  Frcncli  Court,  was  educated  there, 
and  there  while  still  a  child  met  the  woman  whose  in- 
fluence was  later  to  colour  his  whole  life. 

Philippe  Auguste's  son,  the  Dauphin  Louis,  was  a 
brave  and  stalwart  prince,  and  it  was  fitting  that  he 


86  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

should  wed  a  great  lady,  since  he  must  some  day  rule 
over  France.  So  from  France  went  forth  envoys  in 
search  of  the  Dauphin's  bride  and  the  future  queen  of 
France.  And  one  day  a  great  treaty  was  made  be- 
tween the  kingdoms  of  France  and  of  Castille,  and  a 
state  wedding  was  solemnised :  between  Louis,  Dauphin 
of  France,  and  the  little  Princess  Blanche,  of  Castille. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  King  Alfonso  the  Good,  and 
that  Princess  Eleanor  of  England,  who  is  known  as 
the  "Damsel  of  Brittany,"  and  at  the  time  of  her  mar- 
riage she  was  a  yellow-haired  slender  thing,  but  little 
more  than  thirteen  years  old. 

Now  in  due  time  the  great  Philippe  Auguste  joined 
the  other  kings  of  France,  and  the  Dauphin  became 
Louis  VIII.,  and  for  his  courage  and  his  daring  per- 
sonality they  called  him  Louis  the  Lion,  and  so  he  is 
known  in  history.  And  when  he  was  crowned  King  of 
France  his  child-wife  was  crowned  Queen.  And  he 
brought  her  home  to  his  French  Court,  and  the  people, 
seeing  her  child  face  and  fair  hair,  loved  her,  and 
said:  "Long  live  our  young  Queen,  Blanche  of 
Castille." 

Thibault  IV.  de  Champagne  was  born  in  Troyes, 
France,  in  1201,  a  year  after  the  royal  marriage.  As 
has  been  said,  his  father  died  but  a  short  time  after- 
ward. When  Blanche  of  Castille  came  to  France,  the 
Comtesse  de  Champagne  was  a  widow,  whose  chief 
thought  was  for  her  baby ;  to  this  absorbing  interest 


KING  THIBAULT  87 

she  added  an  almost  motherly  affection  for  the  lonely 
little  Queen,  whose  3'outh  and  shyness  made  her  a 
pathetic  figure  at  the  brilliant  French  Court. 

]Many  years  younger  than  Blanche  of  Navarre, 
Comtesse  de  Champagne,  she,  nevertheless,  became  that 
lady's  dear  friend.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  dis- 
tant kinswomen,  and  of  natures  well  accorded  to  one 
another.  So  the  two  Blanches,  the  gracious  and  beau- 
tiful Comtesse  and  the  golden-haired  young  Queen,  be- 
came inseparable.  And  it  came  to  pass  that  during 
Thibault's  babyhood.  Queen  Blanche's  fair  face  was  as 
familiar  to  him  as  his  own  mother's. 

The  death  of  the  Comtesse  while  he  was  still  very 
young  left  him  to  the  tender  mercies  of  a  world  that 
was  at  the  time  very  busy  with  large  state  affairs, 
among  which  a  small  boy  had  but  little  place  or  use. 
But  the  boy's  brave  and  merry  spirit  and  brilliant  wit 
brought  him  safely,  even  triumphantly,  through  the 
brief,  uneasy  childhood  of  the  French  youth  at  that 
day,  and  at  an  early  age  he  began  to  take  part  in  the 
big  political  movements  which  were  convulsing  France, 
as  well  as  to  apply  himself  enthusiastically  to  the  arts 
and  sciences  so  far  as  they  were  then  understood  and 
developed. 

When  Thibault  was  fourteen  the  Queen's  eldest  son 
was  born, — he  who  was  some  day  to  be  St.  Louis,  of 
high  place  in  history.  It  seems  to  have  been  soon 
after  this  important  event  that  Thibault  left  the  Court 


88  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

and  went  to  his  own  possessions.  As  he  grew  older 
he  found  that  the  administration  of  these  vast  estates 
filled  his  time  and  thought.  He  was  a  feudal  lord  of 
great  importance,  and  had  a  wide  influence  with  the 
petty  barons  whose  sporadic  uprisings  disquieted  the 
country.  Thibault's  allegiance,  unconditional  and 
whole-hearted,  belonged  to  the  Crown,  and  he  wor- 
shipped his  mother's  friend,  the  golden-haired  Reine 
Blanche,  as  utterly  as  though  she  were  not  only  his 
Queen  but  his  patron  saint.  Nevertheless,  he  spent 
little  time  at  Court  during  the  latter  years  of  his  boy- 
hood, and  occupied  himself  chiefly  with  his  own  aff^airs, 
- — the  management  of  his  lands  and  vassals,  and  the 
perfection  of  his  education.  His  name  grew  to  be  a 
famous  one  in  that  early  world  of  letters,  sciences  and 
arts,  and  he  was  well  known  then  as  he  is  well  known 
to-day :  as  a  great  noble,  a  charming  and  courtly  man, 
a  brilliant  student,  and  the  greatest  of  the  Trou- 
badours. None  of  these  mediaeval  minstrels  ever  put 
so  fitly  the  varying  notes  of  a  man's  life  into  robust 
yet  graceful  song.  For  manliness, — wholesome, 
vital,  and  of  widely  ranging  interests, — was  the  pre- 
dominating attribute  in  the  make-up  of  Thibault  de 
Champagne.  He  was,  says  an  old  account, — a  man 
of  "un  courage  mouvant  (a  moving  courage)."  He 
was  versatile,  impulsive,  brilliant,  Inconstant,  and  pos- 
sessed to  a  degree  of  perfection  the  quality  of  personal 
charm.     He  was  an  enormous  man, — so  broad  and  tall 


KING  THIBAULT  89 

and  strong  that  he  was  called  "Le  Gros"  by  some  per- 
sons. "His  figure,  tall  and  well  proportioned,"  says 
Fetis,  "his  courage,  his  address  in  the  exercise  of  arms, 
his  magnificence  and  his  liberality,  his  taste  for  letters 
and  his  talent  for  poetry  and  music,  rendered  him  an 
accomplished  cavalier." 

People  loved  him  wherever  he  went,  and  in  spite  of 
his  changeable,  impulsive  nature,  there  was  not  in  all 
his  being  one  shadow  that  was  dishonourable,  cowardly 
or  unkind.  The  mistakes  he  made  were  those  of  im- 
pulse. He  loved  the  King,  and,  against  his  own 
wishes,  rode  with  him  in  an  attack  upon  one  of  the 
Counts  of  Toulouse,  a  kinsman  of  his  own.  But  after 
the  siege  had  continued  for  several  days,  and  the 
miseries  of  war  had  grown  more  conspicuous  than  its 
glories,  the  young  Count  experienced  a  sudden  revul- 
sion of  feeling.  He  gathered  together  his  men  and 
rode  away, — leaving  his  enemies  to  say  what  they  chose 
about  his  courage !  Subsequently  he  persuaded  Tou- 
louse to  submit  to  France. 

This  constant  yielding  to  the  spur  of  the  moment 
won  for  him  an  unenviable  reputation,  though  his 
friends  found  in  all  his  vagaries  no  fault  that  they 
could  not  readily  forgive. 

Thibault  loved  gaiety,  and  many  were  the  great 
banquets  which  he  gave  in  the  Chateau  de  Brie, — ban- 
quets such  as  only  a  Troubadour  and  important  feudal 
lord  of  that  day  could  dream  of  giving.     One  of  the 


90  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

chroniclers  of  these  mediaeval  feasts  gives  us  this 
amazing  menu :  a  stag  roasted  whole,  with  hot  pepper 
sauce ;  wild  boar  with  peppers  and  cloves ;  peacocks, 
swans  and  chickens  fried  in  lard;  roast  capons  with 
clove  sauce ;  pies  of  deer,  pigeon  and  pheasant.  From 
the  pheasant  pies  live  birds  escaped,  and  after  a  time 
falcons  were  loosed,  and  between  courses  the  guests 
watched  the  incidental  sport  and  laid  wagers  on  vari- 
ous birds !  Then  came  eel-pies,  cakes,  tarts,  dates, 
figs,  pomegranates,  and  other  sweets  ;  finally  the  spices : 
ginger,  cloves,  nutmeg  and  pepper.  These  were 
served  as  a  course  by  themselves,  and  their  purpose 
was  to  create  an  unendurable  thirst.  Throughout  the 
meal  wines  of  different  sorts  flowed  ceaselessly, — wines 
mixed  with  perfumes,  spices,  honey,  and  great  quan- 
tities of  pepper.  The  latter  flavouring  was  chiefly  in 
favour,  as  it  prolonged  the  excessive  artificial  thirst. 
At  the  end  of  the  meal  the  table  was  cleared  of  all  save 
the  flagons,  and  the  jongleurs  were  summoned  to  play 
and  sing  while  the  guests  spent  a  few  additional  hours 
over  their  peppered  wine. 

Truly,  the  old  Romans  would  have  had  diflficulty  in 
surpassing  feasts  such  as  these ! 

Yet  in  one  old  book  we  find, — surprising  paradox ! — 
that  the  Troubadour's  rule  of  life  was  as  follows : 

"By  eating  well  and  sleeping  softly  a  man  may 
lead  an  easy  life.  But  he  who  wishes  to  rise  to  emi- 
pence  of  worth,  must  needs  subject  himself  to  roughest 


KING  THIBAULT  91 

hardship.  He  must  exert  his  utmost,  here  and  there, 
must  take  away  and  give  according  to  the  exigency  of 
the  time  and  place !" 

It  might  be  pleasant  to  feel  that  our  Thibault  was 
of  the  type  who  might  have  subscribed  to  the  preced- 
ing exemplary  sentiments,  but  alas !  it  seems  fairly 
certain  that  his  was  rather  the  life-loving  soul  which 
would  have  found  delight  in  the  Lucullan  banquets  re- 
cently described. 

As  to  dress, — a  Troubadour  was  forced  to  dress 
richly,  and  be  sure  Thibault  went  with  the  times,  in 
apparel  as  in  manners  and  customs.  According  to  the 
strange  symbolic  fashions  of  the  day,  red,  yellow, 
green,  purple,  gold,  silver  and  sky  blue  were  under- 
stood, by  an  unwritten  law,  to  denote  a  spirit  of  good 
cheer,  courage  and  other  pleasant  qualities.  A  man 
who  donned  garments  of  brown,  grey  or  any  tint  too 
subdued,  confessed  and  proclaimed  himself  a  coward, 
dullard  and  misanthrope !  Therefore  we  must  pic- 
ture Thibault  as  clothed  in  rainbow  fabrics.  Indeed 
we  have  one  significant  and  authentic  description  of 
him,  as  he  sat  at  the  King's  table  one  day  many  years 
later,  when  he  was  something  more  than  Thibault, 
Conite  de  Champagne.  ".  .  .  And  next  our  Thibault, 
King  of  Navarre,"  says  the  ancient  Navarrese  his- 
torian. "He  was  very  richly  accoutred  in  a  tunic 
and  mantel  of  cloth  of  gold,  a  silver  belt,  and  a  hat 
of  fine  gold." 


92  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Ah,  yes !  Thibault  loved  the  goodly  things  of  this 
life,  Avhether  represented  by  spices  and  perfumed  wine, 
and  roasted  deer,  or  by  a  "hat  of  fine  gold," — by  the 
emotional  loveliness  of  lute-music,  or  by  the  favour  of 
the  Throne.  Not  for  him  was  the  tender  simplicity 
of  Regnault  in  his  lonely  Castle,  or  the  careless  gaiety 
of  the  romantic  Bernart,  wandering  about  the  earth, 
vagrant-like,  and  singing  love-songs.  And  yet  he 
had  a  brave  and  genial  spirit,  with  fine  poetic  heights 
therein,  and  a  heart  fully  fitted  with  the  capacity 
to  love  most  generously  and  nobly. 

The  year  in  which  Thibault  became  twenty-five  was 
the  real  beginning  of  his  life ;  and  a  strange,  exciting 
and  rather  terrible  beginning  it  was.  In  the  Novem- 
ber of  that  year,  1226,  Louis  the  Lion  died  suddenly 
and  mysteriously  in  TVIontpensier,  Auvergne.  And 
thereupon  arose  a  great  clamour  of  voices  throughout 
the  provinces  of  France, — murmuring,  shouting, 
whispering,  proclaiming,  hinting  one  suspicion :  that 
Thibault  de  Champagne,  for  love  of  Queen  Blanche, 
had  poisoned  the  King ! 

Thibault's  knowledge  of  medicine,  among  other 
sciences,  counted  against  him,  and  his  intimacy  at  the 
French  Court  gave  a  seeming  foundation  for  the  evil 
minds  in  the  kingdom.  Moreover,  the  Queen  was  at 
the  height  of  her  wonderful  beauty,  and  it  is  certain 
that  Thibault  had  adored  her,  albeit  humbly,  from  his 
babyhood.     The    coarse-grained  nobles  who  disliked 


KING  THIBAULT  93 

Thibault  and  envied  him  his  influence  and  power  could 
hardly  be  expected  to  distinguish  or  differentiate,  and 
altogether  the  3'oung  Count  found  himself  in  a  most 
enraging  position.  No  open  accusations  were  made, 
either  officially  or  to  his  face,  but  the  air  rang  with 
the  reiterated  rumours  until  he  felt  as  though  he  were 
inundated  in  a  wave  of  gnats  and  tiny  wasps.  His 
mood  of  resentment  was  one  which  only  needed  a 
breath  of  wind  to  be  turned  against  tliose  whom  he 
loved  best.      This  breath  of  wind  was  not  lacking. 

At  this  time  there  w^as  a  league  of  barons  ranged 
against  the  Throne,  the  latter  being  now  occupied  by 
lilanchc,  who  was  Regent  during  the  minority  of 
Louis  IX.  These  barons  and  feudal  lords  were  headed 
by  Pierre  de  Drieux,  Count  of  Brittany.  He  was  a 
curious  man,  fierce  and  taciturn, — the  sworn  enemy 
of  law  and  order,  and  possessed  of  a  supreme  hatred 
for  the  Church.  The  priests  had  given  him  the  nick- 
name "Mauclerc"  or  "Bad  Scholar,"  and  so  he  was 
known  everywhere.  He  and  his  league  of  conspirators 
against  the  Queen  Regent  longed  to  have  the  name  of 
Thibault  dc  Champagne  added  to  their  lists.  And, 
unknown  to  themselves,  they  had  a  powerful  ally, 
very  close  to  the  Throne, — one  who  was  as  anxious  as 
they  that  the  young  Count  should  be  estranged  from 
Louis  and  his  mother.  This  was  the  Prince  Philippe, 
— son  of  Philippe  Auguste  by  Marie  de  Meran,  and 
brother  of  the  late  King.     He  was  a  scoundrel  of  the 


94  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

first  water,  and  had  won  renown  for  his  brutal  treat- 
ment of  his  wife.  This  unfortunate  lady,  the  daugh- 
ter of  Count  Renard  of  Boulogne,  was  kept  shut  up 
in  prison,  that  her  lord  might  do  as  he  willed  without 
incumbrance  or  interference.  Philippe  hated  Thi- 
bault, — either  because  of  his  influence  at  Court,  or 
for  some  private  reason, — and  was  determined  to  harm 
him  in  some  way. 

Young  Louis  IX.  was  to  be  crowned  at  Rheims,  and 
Blanche  sent  out  a  royal  command  that  all  loyal  lords 
of  France  should  be  present  to  acknowledge  and  pay 
homage  to  their  new  King.  When  Thibault,  still 
smarting  from  the  whispered  accusations  made  against 
him,  presented  himself  and  his  retinue  at  the  gates  of 
Rheims,  the  soldiers  of  the  Commune  met  him  with  in- 
solence. And  then, — unspeakable  indignity  and  out- 
rage!— the  city  gates  crashed  loudly  shut  in  his  very 
face.  The  Count  of  Champagne  and  Brie  was  for- 
mally refused  admittance  to  Rheims.  This  insult,  of 
course,  was  by  the  order  of  Prince  Philippe,  and  it  was 
effectual.  Thibault  believed  that  the  Queen  had  sub- 
jected him  to  the  humiliation,  and  his  rage  now  was 
beyond  all  bounds.  His  loyalty  to  the  Crown  had 
brought  him  only  shame  and  suspicion,  and  he  vowed 
to  have  no  more  to  do  with  royalty.  He  rode  straight 
to  the  Castle  of  Brie  and  sent  out  a  messenger  to  seek 
Mauclerc.  In  another  day  he  was  a  member  of  the 
League   of   Barons, — one    of   the   revolutionists   and 


KING  THIBAULT  95 

conspirators    against    Queen    Blanche    and   the   boy- 
king. 

Poor  Thibault !  We  may  guess  what  his  unhappi- 
ness  must  have  been.  The  habit  of  thought  of  a  Hfe- 
time  overturned  in  a  single  day!  It  was  quite  in 
keeping  with  his  nature  that,  in  spite  of  a  probable 
lack  of  enthusiasm  in  his  own  heart,  he  should  remain 
savagely  loyal  to  his  new  cause  during  revolt  after  re- 
volt,— and  defeat  after  defeat!  The  Queen,  as  his- 
tory has  shown,  was  one  of  the  rare  master  minds  of 
statesmanship.  She  managed  the  repeated  insurrec- 
tions and  conspiracies  which  disturbed  her  son's  king- 
dom with  wit,  tact,  and  justice,  and  succeeded  in  win- 
ning countless  concessions  from  the  rebels.  One  of  her 
great  strokes  of  diplomacy  was  the  arrangement  of  a 
marriage  between  her  young  son,  Prince  John,  and 
Yolande,  the  daughter  of  Mauclerc  himself ! 

By  intellect,  strength  of  character,  graciousness 
and  beauty,  she  controlled  and  conquered  the  hostile 
barons,  and  slowly  made  her  strong,  sweet  influence 
felt  and  recognised  by  the  last  and  least  of  her  sub- 
jects. From  afar  Thibault  felt  her  power  and  her 
charm,  but  he  was  not  yet  ready  to  swing  back  from 
the  red  light  of  rebelhon  to  the  peaceful  sunshine  of 
royal  favour. 

Suddenly  in  the  middle  of  these  stirring  times,  in 
1234,  his  grandfather,  old  Sancho  the  Strong,  died; 
and  Thibault  found  himself  King  of  Navarre.     Per- 


96  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

haps  the  new  dignity  and  responsibihty  sobered  his 
defiant  spirit.  At  all  events  it  was  almost  imme- 
diately after  this  change  in  his  estate  that  he  consented 
to  an  interview  with  Blanche.  The  end  was  inevitable. 
Though  well  beyond  forty,  the  Queen  was  as  beautiful 
as  she  had  ever  been,  for  hers  was  a  loveliness  that  grew 
and  softened  with  years.  And  never  had  her  fascina- 
tion been  more  potent.  The  little  yellow-haired  girl 
whom  Thibault's  mother  had  loved,  the  dignified  gra- 
cious Queen  whom  he  had  adored  from  afar  and  de- 
lighted to  serve  throughout  his  boyhood,  the  devoted 
wife  and  mother  who  was  justly  renowned  over  the 
whole  kingdom  for  her  good  and  sweet  qualities, — 
these  different  persons,  while  remaining  faintly  visible 
in  the  woman  before  him,  seemed  but  as  shadows.  What 
he  really  saw,  as  he  looked  up  at  her, — for  he  had 
dropped  on  one  knee  at  her  feet, — was  a  new,  brilliant, 
beautiful  being, — with  the  wisdom  and  gentleness  of 
maturity  in  her  eyes,  and  hair  as  golden  as  the  golden 
sun  for  her  crown.  "Then,"  says  the  very  ancient 
French  history,  "he  rose  up  and  spoke  to  her,  saying, 
'By  my  faith,  Madame,  my  heart  and  my  body  and 
all  my  lands  are  at  your  commands.  Nor  could  you 
ask  of  me  a  thing  that  I  would  not  do  with  good 
wull.  Never,  God  please,  against  you  or  yours  may  I 
live !'  " 

When  Thibault  left  Blanche  he  knew  in  his  own 
heart  that  not  only  did  he  stand  ready  to  die  for  her  as 


KING  THIBAULT  97 

his  Queen,  but  that  he  loved  her  as  his  lady.  Thi- 
bault  was  no  longer  a  boy,  but  a  man  thirty-five  years 
old.  Further,  he  was  now  a  King, — albeit  a  petty 
one, — and  so  he  permitted  himself  to  love  her.  Never- 
theless, he  knew  that  his  love  must  be  quite  without 
hope.  Says  the  historian :  "He  often  held  in  remem- 
brance the  sweet  regard  of  the  Queen  and  her  beau- 
tiful face.  His  heart  was  filled  with  much  fervent 
tenderness  and  love ;  but  when  he  recalled  how  high  a 
lady  she  was,  of  how  great  a  name,  and  of  how  good  a 
life  and  an  upright, — he  could  not  hope ;  but  remained 
in  loving  thoughts  and  great  sadness.      .      .      ." 

So  melancholy  and  miserable  and  lovesick  did  he 
finally  become  that  he  went  to  a  gathering  of  Wise 
Men  of  the  day, — seers  whose  life  it  was  to  peer 
into  the  soul's  mysteries  and  provide  advice  for  the 
sickest  brains.  And  they  recommended  an  extensive 
study  of  the  arts,  which  he  had  been  wont  to  love  as  a 
boy. 

".  .  .  And  for  that  profound  thought  aids 
melancholy,  to  him  it  was  declared  by  certain  Wise 
]\Ien  that  he  should  study  the  art  of  sweet  songs  and 
the  fine  sounds  of  instruments.     And  so  did  he." 

Naturally,  he  sang  chiefly  of  Blanche,  or  for  her, — 
as  all  Troubadours  have  sung  of  and  for  their  ladies 
since  time  began.  He  rang  the  changes  on  her  fair- 
ness; he  dcscril)cd  her  in  every  metaphor  and  figure 
which  his  fertile  imagination  could  suggest.     He  said 


98  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

that  she  "made  all  his  deepest  sighs,"  and  of  her  name 
he  cried: 

"H6  !     Blanche  !     Name  brilliant  and  silvery!" 

Sometimes  he  grew  whimsical,  likened  her  to  a  snow- 
white  deer,  plunging  courageously  through  the  thick- 
ets, and  sighed  that  if  he  might  but  capture  that  mar- 
vellous deer — 

"Who  then  so  glad,  so  joyous,  as  Thibault?" 

He  sang  of  her  wonderful  golden  hair  with  the 
adoration  of  a  sun-worshipper ;  and  all  the  while,  as 
we  read  his  outpourings,  we  find  a  completeness  of 
humility,  tenderness  and  respect  which  appears  vastly 
to  his  credit  when  we  consider  the  manners  and  morals 
of  his  time. 

"I  love  whom  I  may  never  dare  implore,"  he  writes. 
"And  mine  eyes  are  not  brave  enough  to  lift  themselves 
unto  her.      She  whom  I  love  is  of  a  great  rank    . 
and  her  beauty  hath  rendered  me  presumptuous." 

He  worried  greatly  over  the  remaining  delinquents 
in  the  League  of  Barons.  "The  White  Deer  stands 
among  wolves," — he  said,  in  one  of  his  poems.  "How 
to  be  certain  that  they  will  not  rend  her?" 

By  this  time  his  enemies  were  at  work  again  spread- 
ing slanderous  stories,  and  reviving  in  the  public  mind 
the  old  doubts  as  to  Louis  VIII.'s  mode  of  death. 
Hugues  de  la  Fierte  wrote  a  Servante  (political  song), 


KING  THIBAULT  99 

which  was  repeated  all  over  France.  Parts  of  this  are 
too  malevolent  to  be  of  interest,  but  the  passage  most 
extensively  quoted  ran  something  as  follows: 

"Count  Thibault  is  more  apt  at  medicine  than  at 
chivalry!  .  .  .  Well  is  France  defended,  my 
lords  and  barons,  now  that  a  woman  rules  over  her, — 
and  such  a  woman  as  you  know !  He  and  she,  side  by 
side,  governing  the  country  together!  He  had  no 
need  to  get  a  crown  for  himself,  since  already  he  is 
crowned  otherwise !"     .      .      . 

But  now  neither  Thibault  nor  the  Queen  cared  for 
the  slanders  of  their  enemies.  Thibault  was  much  at 
Court,  and  much  with  his  lady  and  Queen, — whose  fine 
mind  and  rare  charm  attracted  him  even  more  than  her 
beauty.  Though  he  had  taken  up  the  study  of  song 
as  a  cure  for  love  he  had  no  sooner  acquired  proficiency 
in  the  art  than  he  hastened  to  his  Queen's  feet  to  sing 
his  love-songs  to  her ! 

'"Love  is  endowed  with  all-surpassing  might," 

sang  Thibault,  tlic  Troubndour, — 

"And  good  or  ill  bestows  in  wanton  jest. 
To  me  too  long  he  portions  only  spite. 
And  reason  bids  me  drive  him  from  my  breast. 
But  heart  like  mine  ne'er  yet  was  made  of  clay. 
And  Love  !  Love  !  Love  !  it  cries  with  ne'er  a  stay; 
No  other  reason  from  it  can  you  wrest;  — 
So  I  sliall  love,  and  naught  can  say  me  nay!" 

•Translation  by  Henry  Carrington,  Dean  of  Booking. 


100  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

In  a  more  despondent  and  less  defiant  mood  he 
wrote : 

"'I  thought  I'd  vanquished  mighty  love. 

But  find  myself  deceived  ; 
For  every  hour,  alas  !  I  prove 

The  conquest  unachieved. 
By  day  I  seek  for  ease  in  vain, 

Or  call  on  sleep  by  night; — 
Sighs,  tears,  complaints,  increase  my  pain, 
Nor  does  a  hope, — ye  powers  ! — remain 

That  she  will  e'er  my  love  requite!" 

Whether  or  not  the  royal  widow  ever  did  "requite 
the  love"  of  the  man  who  had  been  born  a  year  after 
her  own  marriage,  no  one  will  ever  know  unless  those 
two  picturesque  and  delightful  ghosts  should  come 
back  and  vouchsafe  the  information.  But  she  was 
most  gracious,  consulted  him  often  in  state  affairs,  and 
permitted  him  the  intimacy  of  a  close  and  trusted 
friend, — thereby  showing  the  breadth  and  under- 
standing of  her  rare  nature.  Reformed  traitors  are 
seldom  accepted  with  so  much  magnanimity  ;  but  in  this 
case  the  attitude  was  a  wise  one. 

Several  times  during  trivial  battles  the  royal  troops 
were  in  danger  of  defeat,  and  in  each  case  Thibault's 
forces,  arriving  at  a  timely  hour,  saved  the  day.  So 
he  grew  more  and  more  a  ruling  factor  in  the  French 
Government,  and  the  League  of  Barons  almost  de- 
spaired of  ever  winning  him  back  to  their  rebellious 
ranks. 

'Translation  by  Dr.  Charles  Burney. 


KING  THIBAULT  101 

Meanwhile  Blanche's  long  regency  came  to  an  end, 
and  the  young  King,  St.  Louis,  took  her  place,  nomi- 
nalh'.  She  was  still  the  ruling  power,  however,  and 
when  Louis  went  to  Palestine,  in  12-18,  she  regained 
full  control.  Thibault  went  with  his  young  King,  and 
was  in  the  great  Gay  a  defeat.  When  he  returned  to 
France  there  were  several  fresh  complications  to  meet. 
Before  the  marriage  between  Prince  John  and  Yolande 
de  Bretagne  could  be  solemnised  the  Prince  died.  Yo- 
landc's  father,  ]Mauclcrc,  had  now  no  incentive  to  keep 
on  friendly  terms  with  the  King  and  the  Queen  jNlother, 
and  he  was  working  harder  than  ever,  though  with 
more  subtlety  and  diplomacy,  to  overthrow  the  Throne. 
To  win  Thibault  away,  he  offered  him  Yolande's  hand. 
She  was  a  fair  maid,  it  is  said,  and  had  a  great  name, 
and  a  marriage  of  convenience  being  quite  a  matter  of 
course  in  those  days,  Thibault  agreed.  (Indeed  there 
are  historians  who  insist  that  our  hero's  exalted  devo- 
tion to  Blanche  did  not  prevent  him  from  marrying 
three  times  altogether!)  Perhaps  he  had  found  the 
Queen  less  gracious  and  more  preoccupied  on  his  re- 
turn from  Palestine,  and  realised  the  incontrovertible 
truth, — that  she  was  a  stateswoman  first,  and  a  gentle 
lady  afterward.  In  fact  it  is  possible  that  she  may 
have  grown  tired  of  his  rather  exacting  adoration ; — 
and  it  required  but  little,  as  we  have  seen,  to  pique  our 
wilful  King,  Count  and  Troubadour,  Thibault  of 
Navarre ! 


102  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

The  day  was  set  for  his  marriage  with  Yolande  de 
Bretagne. 

Suddenly  a  letter  arrived  from  the  King.  Even  one 
less  familiar  with  the  royal  methods  than  Thibault 
could  not  have  failed  to  see  that  it  had  been  dictated  by 
Blanche.  The  letter  begged  him  to  break  off  his  ap- 
proaching marriage, — "for  the  love  of  those  dear  to 
him  in  France." 

Thibault  bade  farewell  to  Yolande,  and  departed  for 
the  French  Court. 

It  is  hard  not  to  feel  sorry  for  Yolande.  Her  youth 
seemed  to  be  spent  in  preparations  for  bridals  that 
never  occurred. 

From  the  foregoing  incident  it  may  be  inferred  that 
La  Reine  Blanche  was  something  of  what  we  might 
term  to-day,  in  vulgar  parlance,  a  "dog  in  the 
manger."  She  did  not  wish  to  wed  the  King  of 
Navarre  herself,  but  she  would  not  dream  of  permit- 
ting him  to  wed  Yolande  de  Bretagne. 

Though  nearly  all  of  Thibault's  songs  were  written 
for  Blanche,  they  were  not  all  written  about  her.  The 
most  famous  of  all  his  chansons, — perhaps  one  of  the 
most  famous  songs  of  its  kind  ever  written,  has  but  the 
most  slight  and  frivolous  connection  with  love.  It  is 
the  great  "Chanson  du  Roy,"  or  "Song  of  the  King," 
and  is  written  on  the  typical  "pastourelle"  model  of 
the    Troubadours.      In    simplicity    and    spontaneity. 


KING  THIBAULT  103 

both  of  words  and  music,  it  probably  reaches  the  high- 
water  mark  of  medijeval  minstrelsy. 
It  beccins  in  this  fashion: 


-to' 


"As  I  rode  ere  dawn  was  winging, 
'Twixt  an  orchard  and  a  grove, 
I  a  shepherdess  heard  singing. 
And  her  song  was  all  of  love. 
Thus  began  the  maiden's  lay: 
'  Love  doth  bind  me  tenderly ! ' 
All  ray  heart  beat  high  and  free. 
And  I  cried,  by  hope  made  gay. 
From  my  horse's  back  swift  springing, 
'  Pretty  one,  good  day  to  thee!'  " 

The  song  continues  to  portray  the  flirtation  be- 
tween the  King  and  the  pretty  shepherdess.  Finally 
he  becomes  impertinent,  and  she  calls  for  her  shepherd 
lover,  Perrin.  Perrin  arrives,  quite  ready  to  thrash 
the  royal  lover,  who  hastily  mounts  his  palfrey  and 
rides  away.  The  shepherdess  calls  after  his  flying 
figure  tauntingly :  "Cavaliers  should  never  be  so 
bold!" 

There  is  a  certain  genial  sarcasm  in  the  original 
which  it  is  almost  impossible  to  translate.  The  music 
is  too  well  known  and  well  loved  to  need  comment. 

Thibault's  last  years  passed  less  eventfully  than 
his  early  ones.  He  studied  a  little,  sang  a  little,  rode, 
feasted  and  made  merry  a  little,  and  spent  a  due  por- 
tion of  his  time  with  his  beloved  lady,  Queen  Blanche. 


104  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

As  both  grew  older,  the  Troubadour's  ardent  songs 
gave  place  to  occasional  religious  outbursts,  as  be- 
came a  good  Catholic  King.  He  wrote  hymns  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin  instead  of  love-songs  to  Blanche  of 
Castille,  and  was  happier  in  discussing  with  her  the 
broad  questions  of  the  day  than  in  pouring  forth  a 
ceaseless  tide  of  passionate  protestations. 

With  her  head  crowned  with  silver  instead  of  gold, 
and  looking  more  than  ever  a  Reine  Blanche, — a  white 
queen, — the  great  and  clever  lady  who  had  ruled 
France  and  inspired  a  genius,  slipped  softly  and  easily 
down  the  slanting  roadway  of  years.  When  she  was 
sixty-five,  and  before  extreme  old  age  had  claimed  or 
chained  her  indomitable  personality,  she  died.  Her 
death  was  in  December,  when  the  snow  lay  on  the  land. 
In  the  white  time  of  the  year  La  Reine  Blanche  was 
laid  in  state  among  the  Kings  and  Queens  of  France. 

A  little  OA'er  a  year  later  Thibault  followed  her. 
Surely  it  was  happiest  for  him.  He  would  never  have 
loved  the  sunset-time,  and  would  have  had  small  pa- 
tience with  the  world  when  the  lustiness  of  youth,  the 
splendour  of  romance,  and  the  savour  of  action  had 
left  it.  He  had  been  essentially  a  part  of  the  world, — 
a  part  of  its  joys  and  its  miseries,  its  excitements,  dis- 
appointments, and  great  deeds.  And  to  have  grown 
old,  with  only  memory  to  give  him  back  the  lost,  robust 
delights  of  his  young  manhood,  the  absorbing  game 
of  conspiracies  and  thrones,  and  the  inspiring  influence 


KING  THIBAULT  105 

of  his  royal  Lady, — this  indeed  would  have  been  a 
lot  most  pitiful  and  out  of  harmony  with  his  song  of 
Hfe. 

But  the  big  dumb  Fate  whom  we  are  wont  to 
revile  has  an  ear  for  chords  and  discords.  And  so  it 
happened  that  when  the  cup  was  barely  drained,  the 
lute  hardly  out  of  tune,  the  flowers  just  withered,  and 
the  Queen  but  a  year  dead, — he  closed  his  eyes  upon  a 
smiling  sky  and  went  to  sleep.  And  the  chronicler  of 
old  said  of  him,  with  a  rare  tenderness :  "He  made 
the  most  beautiful  songs,  and  the  most  delectable  and 
melodious,  that  ever  were  made  for  singing,  or  fash- 
ioned for  instruments  by  any  man." 

The  histories  have  much  to  say  of  the  King  of 
Navarre.  But  for  us  he  is  something  much  better 
than  a  mere  king :  he  is  Thibault,  the  Troubadour. 


THE   HUNCHBACK    OF   ARRAS 


ROBIN   M'AIME 


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Rob  -  in. 


loves  me,       loves    but        me; 


rcz: 


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i: 


--^=^ 


-J— ^- 


— ' H 

Rob  -  In's    asked  me       if      his  love  I'll      tru  -  ly 


f 


^-Ul-j^ 


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1?=^- 


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*      ^ 


be. 


Rob   -   in's  bought  me     daint  -  y     things  In 


i 


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I    i 


r^S: 


lov  -  er's  fash  -  ion,    Sung  me      ma  -  ny       ten  -  der 


^ 


=T— 1 T- 


f 


-» >*- 


i±3±= 


-^ 1 ^ 

songs  to.  ..   prove  his        faith  -  ful       pas    -    -    sion. 


i 


=-t=BZ 


=;^=:r 


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Rob- in..        loves  me,    loves  but       me;  Rob  -  in's 


i 


]=F=t 


I         1 


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±z±=±: 


f 


It 


g=  -* — "s*:^  -^ ^- 


— I- 
asked  me       if      his         love   I'll       tru  -  ly        be  I 


VI 
THE   HUNCHBACK   OF   ARRAS 


HE  himself  denied  the  suitabiHty  of  his  nickname  "Li 
Bochu"  or  "Le  Bossu,"  but  his  biographers  insist  that, 
if  not  actually  a  hunchback,  he  was  at  least  some- 
what malformed.  To  be  sure  "Bossu"  was  a  title 
often  applied  to  minstrels  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  never- 
theless it  is  safe  to  assume  that  Adam  de  la  Halle  was 
physically  one  of  Nature's  mistakes.  Mentally,  he 
was  all  that  could  be  desired.  He  said,  in  writing  of 
himself,  after  his  own  odd  fashion  of  speaking  in  the 
third  person : 

"Personal   beauty   nor   grace   had   he   not. 
But  he  had  beauty  of  wit 
And  knew  most  gracefully  all  manners  of  song." 

Gifted,  sneering,  poetical,  sparkling  little  Bossu! 
You  were  out  of  place  in  the  century  which  gave  you 
birth.  To-day  we  should  hail  you  as  a  wit  and  rever- 
ence you  as  a  master.  Your  caustic  and  sometimes 
audacious  jests  would  be  swallowed  with  avidity,  and 
your  deformity  would  add  piquancy  to  your  personal- 
ity, instead  of  opening  the  mouths  of  your  contem' 
poraries  for  the  issue  of  sneers  and  derision. 


110  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

A  poet,  a  dramatist,  a  wit,  a  composer,  a  singer,  a 
mocker,  a  reformer,  a  libertine,  a  gallant,  a  revolu- 
tionist, a  lover,  a  student,  even,  sporadically,  a  reli- 
gieux,  how  could  the  thirteenth  century  be  expected  to 
understand  him? 

Adam  de  la  Halle  was  bom  in  1240,  according  to  the 
best  authorities.  Coussemaker,  indeed,  insists  that  the 
date  was  nearer  1220,  but  the  consensus  of  opinion  in- 
clines to  1240,  so  let  us  accept  the  latter  date  with- 
out further  debate. 

Of  his  mother  we  know  nothing,  but  his  father's  per- 
sonality seems  fairly  accurately  preserved  in  history. 
Maitre  Henri  de  la  Halle  was  a  well-to-do  burgher  of 
the  town  of  Arras,  capital  of  Artois  in  Picardy.  In- 
deed he  was  a  man  of  decided  importance  and  held  a 
social  position  rather  unusual  among  the  bourgeoisie. 
He  was  a  burgher  with  definite  aspirations  and  de- 
sires— one  of  which  was  that  his  son  Adam  should 
have  every  opportunity  to  distinguish  himself  and  take 
a  prominent  place  in  the  great  world.  He  had  a  suffi- 
ciency of  material  goods  and  he  cheerfully  invested 
them  in  the  education  and  bringing  up  of  this  delicate, 
brilliant  and  perverse  boy. 

Arras  was  a  peculiarly  vicious  town,  even  in  a  day 
when  laxity  was  the  rule  of  life.  The  government  and 
the  people  were  continually  at  odds,  and  the  air  was 
hot  with  malice  and  fetid  with  scandal  and  immorality. 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  ARRAS     111 

In  later  years,  Adam,  on  the  eve  of  departure,  wrote 
as  follows  of  his  home  and  birthplace : 

*"Arras,  Arras!     Town  full  of  strife; — 
With  calumnies  and  hatred  rife; 
You  were  a  noble  town  of  yore; 
Your  fame,  'tis  said,  they  will  restore; 
But  unless  God  your  manners  mend 
I  see  not  who'll  effect  this  end. 
Gambling  is  all  that  you  pursue. 
So — fifty  thousand  times  adieu!" 

But  although  the  day  was  to  come  when  he  could 
write  thus  scathingly  of  the  delinquencies  of  Arras, 
he  was  part  and  parcel  of  them  in  his  boyhood.  "He 
was  received,"  says  one  historian,  "by  the  richest  and 
most  noble  Seigneurs  of  Arras.  They  opened  to  him 
both  house  and  purse,  and  admired  him  at  their  tables." 
It  is  evident  that  Adam  must  have  been  remarkably 
brilliant  and  witty  even  in  his  extreme  youth,  for  cer- 
tainly they  could  not  have  admired  his  poor  bent  form, 
and  the  record  of  the  homage  paid  him  by  these  great 
men  of  his  town  is  testimony  to  his  marvellous  and 
precociously  developed  mentality. 

Throughout  his  youth  Adam  plunged  deeply  and 
constantly  into  dissipation,  and  it  is  to  this  fact,  doubt- 
less, that  we  owe  his  subsequent  bitter  and  brilliant  de- 
nunciations of  vice.  He  had  gauged  the  depth  or  the 
shallowness  of  this  mad  life  of  j^leasure  to  which  Arras 
'Translation  by  Henry  Carrington,  Dean  of  Bocking. 


112  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

was  given  up,  and  could,  therefore,  excoriate  it  as  an 
outsider  could  never  have  done. 

There  was  no  banquet  but  young  Adam  de  la  Halle 
was  present, — no  great  gambling  bout  but  his  purse 
was  upon  the  table.  Where  wine  was  drunk,  quips  ex- 
changed, women  wooed  or  fortunes  lost, — Adam  was 
always  to  be  seen.  He  could  not  fight  duels  nor  ride 
hunting,  but  when  a  brain  could  serve  he  was  never 
missing.  In  the  wildest  scenes  of  revelry  that  made 
Arras  notorious  his  twisted  shoulders,  pallid  face  and 
blazing  eyes  formed  the  most  dominant  note  of  the  pic- 
ture. His  swift  biting  speech  threaded  the  coarse 
jests  of  his  companions  like  a  whip  of  steel.  It  was 
said  that  the  magnetism  of  his  vivid  eyes  and  the  spell 
of  his  wonderful  voice  could  woo  a  woman's  heart 
away  from  the  handsomest  giant  that  ever  wore  a 
sword  or  sat  a  horse. 

Maitre  Henri  began  to  grow  disturbed.  That  his 
son  should  have  due  experience  in  the  great  world  was 
one  thing,  but  that  he  should  be  supreme  Master  of 
the  Revels  in  a  town  renowned  for  its  lawlessness  was 
quite  another,  and  most  alarming  to  a  parental  soul. 
So  he  began  to  speak  seriously  to  Adam, — began  to 
speak  of  art,  letters,  and  music,  and  the  mental  train- 
ing which  might  be  obtained  at  the  great  monasteries, 
— began  to  speak  of  the  future  which  was  as  strong  as 
it  was  remorseless.  He  reminded  the  young  man  that, 
while  youth  was  brief,  life  was  sometimes  known  to 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  ARRAS     113 

last  a  good  while,  and  it  was  as  well  to  look  ahead  and 
prepare  one's  self  against  the  day  when  riotous  living 
should  have  lost  its  first  savour,  and  pleasure  came  to  a 
man  along  less  strenuous  lines. 

Change  was  the  guiding  motive-power  of  Le  Bossu's 
life,  so,  as  he  was  becoming  weary  of  gambling  and 
drinking,  and  had  an  insatiable  love  of  novelty,  he 
agreed  to  go  to  the  Monastery  of  Vauxcellcs,  near 
Cambrai,  and  to  cultivate  his  sparkling  and  erratic  in- 
tellect in  the  sobering  atmosphere  of  the  cloister. 

He  had  but  one  regret  in  leaving  Arras.  He  should 
be  separated  from  Marie.  For  Adam  was  almost  on 
the  verge  of  falling  in  love, — as  much  in  love,  that  is, 
as  one  of  his  temperament  could  be.  Neither  Marie's 
surname  nor  her  antecedents  are  on  record.  We  only 
know  from  an  old  chronicle  that  she  was  "a  beautiful 
person,  richer  in  charms  than  in  worldly  advantages  or 
fortune."  She  is  spoken  of  by  more  than  one  historian 
as  "La  jolie  demoiselle  Marie,"  and  Adam  has  enu- 
merated her  mental,  spiritual  and  personal  attrac- 
tions in  many  poems  both  sentimental  and  satirical. 
Being  poor  in  "worldly  advantages  and  fortune," 
Marie  did  not  please  Maitre  Henri,  and  the  course  of 
true  love  bade  fair  to  run  rather  roughly  for  the 
lovers, — if  so  they  can  be  termed.  It  is  more  than 
probable  that,  up  to  the  time  of  Adam's  departure  for 
Vauxcellcs,  he  had  paid  but  tentative  and  cursory 
tribute  of  attention  to  Marie.      Doubtless,  however,  he 


114  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

had  succeeded  in  fascinating  her  with  his  wit  and  his 
personality,  as  he  fascinated  all  women,  in  spite  of 
being  the  Hunchback  of  Arras. 

At  about  this  time  an  unusual  humility  seems  to 
have  taken  possession  of  Adam.  Apparently  he  felt 
ashamed  of  the  unquiet  and  unseemly  life  he  had  led 
since  childhood,  and  recognised  in  the  daring  and  ma- 
licious witticisms  which  his  companions  had  praised  so 
highly  the  elements  of  ill  breeding,  and  an  inherent 
lack  of  delicacy  of  thought. 

In  the  "Farewell  to  Arras," — a  stanza  from  which 
was  quoted  a  few  pages  back, — he  says: 

*".    .    .     Rude  and  empty  was  my  mind. 
Discourteous,  base  and  unrefined.     . 
My  tender   friend,  mucli-loved  and  dear, 
I  feel  and  show  but  little  cheer. 
Deeply  on  your  account  I  grieve, 
Whom  I  am  forced  behind  to  leave. 
You  will  be  treasurer  of  my  heart. 
Although  my  body  must  depart. 
Learning   and   science   to   attain, 
And  be  more  worth, — so  you  shall  gain!" 

Alas !  Adam  was  forever  turning  over  new  leaves, — 
but  some  of  his  new  leaves  were  more  discreditable  than 
the  old.  Good  or  bad,  however,  he  never  kept  to  them 
long. 

He  left  Arras  filled  with  a  deep  distaste  for  the 
town  and  his  erstwhile  boon  companions,  and  a  pleas- 
^Translation   by   Dean   Carrington. 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  ARRAS     115 

antly  depressed  affection  for  Marie.  Doubtless  his 
intention  was  to  remain  in  the  Monastery  long  enough 
to  complete  his  education,  then  return  to  Arras,  wed 
Marie,  and  settle  down  into  a  self-respecting  burgher 
with  a  taste  for  versifying.  He  was,  however,  to  pass 
through  several  phases  before  even  approaching  the 
beatific  monotony  which  he  contemplated  so  hope- 
fully. 

In  the  first  place  the  monks  made  him  warmly  wel- 
come in  Vauxcelles.  His  fine  mind  and  rare  aptitude 
in  all  manner  of  studies  delighted  them,  and  the  most 
learned  of  the  Brethren  gave  him  of  the  best  their 
brains  could  yield,  filling  his  impressionable  soul  with 
that  knowledge-thirst  which  strengthens  with  appease- 
ment. Then  his  quick  and  appreciative  imagination 
began  to  see  and  seize  the  picturesque  elements  of  his 
monastic  life.  His  interest  in  his  work  gave  place  to 
the  intuitive  response  of  the  poet  and  dramatist  to 
fine  theatrical  effects.  He  took  what  the  old  book  calls 
"The  large  course  of  study,  composed  of  the  Seven 
Arts,"  but  it  soon  became  an  incidental  feature  of  ex- 
istence; the  religious  side  of  his  life  attracted  him 
much  more  profoundly. 

The  beauty  of  the  cloistered  days  appealed  to  the 
artist  within  him,  and  so  wholly  did  he  lose  the  memory 
of  the  warmer  and  sweeter  world  outside  that  he  be- 
came a  clerk  in  the  Monastery,  and  finally  entered  upon 
the  novitiate  preparatory  to  taking  Holy  Orders. 


116  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

It  is  much  more  than  possible,  however,  that  Adam 
at  no  single  moment  intended  to  become  a  monk. 
Probably  his  subtle,  secret  and  analytical  brain  ac- 
cepted— even  created — this  new  situation  from  his 
usual  motive  of  enthusiastic  but  well-balanced  curios- 
ity. Doubtless  he  began  his  novitiate  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  it  would  mean  for  him  some  new  and  valuable 
experiences  and  impressions.  He  was  a  dramatist 
preeminently,  and  as  such  had  rare  appreciation  of  the 
laws  of  contrast. 

So  behold  him,  kneeling  piously  in  Vauxcelles,  mur- 
muring prayers  in  his  beautiful  voice,  gazing  upward 
with  his  marvellous  eyes,  and  perhaps  registering  an 
impression  now  and  then  on  the  tablets  of  his  sly  and 
clever  brain.  Picture,  likewise,  the  amiable  and  sym- 
pathetic monks,  glancing  with  compassionate  eyes  to- 
ward the  deformed  shoulders  under  the  dull-coloured 
habit  of  the  neoph3'te. 

For  a  time  this  new  phase  of  life  delighted  him. 
He  out-religioned  the  most  religious  of  the  Brethren, 
flung  into  his  Aves  and  Misereres  an  enthusiasm  new 
to  the  unimaginative  monks,  and  took  an  artistic  joy 
in  silver  dawns  and  crimson  sunsets  as  filtered  through 
monastic  gratings.  When  the  chill  of  the  stones  cut  in- 
to his  knees  he  knew  the  delight  of  the  super-sensitive 
sensualist ;  he  sniffed  the  incense  with  the  appreciation 
of  the  intellectual  poet.  All  this  sounds  paradoxical, 
— but  throughout  his  days  it  was  the  will  and  pleasure 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  ARRAS      117 

of  Le  Bossu  to  live  paradoxes.  With  his  soul  he  re- 
membered the  world ;  with  his  keenly  strung  nerves  he 
responded  to  the  appeal  of  the  cloister. 

But  soon  he  had  exhausted  the  possibilities  of  Vaux- 
celles.  He  had  lived  his  life  there  with  ardour  and 
completeness,  absorbed  the  atmosphere  of  the  Church, 
and  penetrated  the  somewhat  unvaried  individualities 
of  the  monks.     He  was  tired  of  it. 

Sin  and  Virtue,  the  World  and  Religion,  had  alike 
cloyed.  He  must  have  something  new  to  inspire  him 
now,  thrill  his  blood,  and  beckon  his  adventurous  spirit. 
But  what  ?  The  answer  sprang  into  his  brain  together 
with  the  question:  Romance!  The  witch  and  priest- 
ess, elf  and  gypsy, — the  queen  of  the  big  round  world, 
and  the  enchantress  of  the  hearts  of  men !  Romance 
should  be  his  goddess  henceforward  he  vowed,  and  he 
turned  a  critical  and  frigid  eye  upon  the  shadow- 
crowded  corridor  and  the  silent  courtyard.  Yester- 
day he  had  found  the  one  mysterious  and  the  other 
peaceful — to-day  they  both  were  uninteresting. 

His  elusive  sentiment  for  Marie  was  now  taken  out 
of  his  elastic  and  retentive  inner-consciousness,  and 
elaborated  upon  with  the  skill  of  the  mechanic.  A  bit 
added  here  and  there,  and  behold !  Adam  found  him- 
self successfully  luxuriating  in  a  splendid  passion  for 
"La  jolie  demoiselle"  in  Arras.  He  discovered  quite 
suddenly  that  life  was  an  empty  and  worthless  affair 
without  love,  and  decided  almost  as  suddenly  that  he 


118  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

must  see  Marie  at  once,  and  protest  to  her  the  extraor- 
dinary and  deathless  ardour  of  his  devotion. 

His  vows  ?  Adam  placed  his  vows  at  scarcely  higher 
value  than  do  his  historians.  The  monastic  Bond.'^  It 
only  remained  to  be  broken.  Doubtless  he  worked  him- 
self up  to  an  affectation  of  emotion  very  satisfactory 
to  himself,  during  some  solemn  Vesper  service.  Or  do 
we  wrong  him  ?  Was  there  indeed  some  fugitive  spark 
of  the  ineffable  flame  called  Love  kindling  slowly  in 
his  cold  heart?  It  may  be.  And  for  the  good  of  his 
soul, — now  jesting  ironically  somewhere  in  the  Place 
of  Departed  Spirits, — we  will  hope  that,  for  a  brief 
space  at  least,  Adam  le  Bossu  sang  the  Love  Song  of 
the  World. 

Once  determined  upon  his  course  nothing  could  pre- 
vail against  him.  The  monkish  habit  was  discarded; 
the  garments  in  which  he  came  to  Vauxcelles  were 
hastily  donned  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  pallidly  re- 
flected on  the  wall  of  his  cell.  In  the  hush  of  mid- 
night, two  hours  before  the  first  service,  he  stole  down 
the  still  corridor.  Perhaps  a  Brother  stirred  in  his 
tired  sleep,  and  murmured,  "Who  passes?"  but  some 
scampering  rat  or  shivering  whisper  of  wind  answered 
the  question,  and  the  Hunchback  crept  on:  past  the 
entrance  to  the  Chapel,  for  which  in  his  new  mood  he 
had  a  laugh  probably  instead  of  a  genuflexion ;  past 
the  Refectory,  with  a  retrospective  grimace  for  the 
coarse  and  meagre  fare  which  had  so  often  been  doled 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  ARRAS     119 

out  to  him  by  the  Cellarer ;  out  by  the  great  door  and 
across  the  courtyard.  .  .  .  The  trees  stirred 
faintly,  like  a  lisping  of  many  hushed  voices ;  the  wind 
touched  his  face  with  a  wordless  welcome  that  brought 
a  thrill.  A  minute  later  he  was  out  on  the  highroad. 
The  sleeping  Monastery  was  behind  him,  a  great 
exultation  was  in  his  heart,  and  his  face  was  turned 
toward  Arras. 

Now,  just  at  this  time  Arras  was  in  a  sad  state,  had 
Adam  but  known  it.  A  wild  confusion  reigned  there, 
made  up  of  dissension  and  discontent,  tyranny  and  in- 
subordination,— a  chaotic  condition  in  which  the 
Mayor  and  the  citizens,  the  priests  and  the  students 
alike  were  involved.  Pamphlets  were  written  bristling 
with  invective  against  the  government,  influential 
citizens  were  banished  under  suspicion  of  complicity 
with  these  verbal  revolutionists,  and  the  air  teemed 
with  discord. 

When  Adam  returned  to  his  native  town  he  found 
these  conditions  in  existence,  and  his  welcome  but  a 
wintry  one, — cold,  stormy  and  depressing.  His 
father  was  not  only  amazed  by  his  son's  summary  de- 
parture from  Vauxcelles,  but  he  was  greatly  exercised 
over  the  constant  anxieties  of  every-day  life.  Every- 
day life  in  Arras  just  then  was  far  from  monotonous, 
and  Maitre  Henri  was  growing  too  old  to  enjoy  the 
smoke  even  of  a  bloodless  battle. 

Adam  sought  out  Marie  with  dispatch,  and  told  his 


120  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

tale.  He  played  his  new  role  with  his  old  skill  and 
ardour.  He  convinced  "La  jolie  demoiselle"  that  she 
was  essential  to  his  happiness,  if  not  to  his  actual  life ! 
He  made  love  with  his  brain,  voice,  eyes  and  soul.  Of 
course  Marie  was  conquered,  and  consented  to  become 
his  wife. 

This  fact  assured  and  her  promise  given,  Adam, 
excited  even  beyond  his  usual  high  pitch,  began  to 
interest  himself  in  the  political  conditions  of  his  home. 
For  the  first  time  an  opportunity  offered  itself  for  tak- 
ing part  in  public  affairs.  He  began  to  write  pamph- 
lets himself, — brilliant,  daring  pieces  of  work,  the  fore- 
runners of  some  modern  editorials.  Neither  God  nor 
man  escaped  the  searing  red-hot  points  of  his  intellect- 
ual weapons.  He  reviled  the  Pope  no  less  than  he  at- 
tacked the  Government  of  Arras.  And,  not  content 
with  the  introduction  of  human  personages  for  the  bet- 
ter dramatic  development  of  his  tirades,  he  called  the 
figure  of  the  Almighty  into  his  pages  to  point  by 
Divine  concurrence  the  theories  which  he  himself  had 
evolved. 

The  result  of  all  this  was  that  he  and  his  father 
were  forced  to  fly  from  Arras  to  Douai,  to  escape  be- 
ing made  public  examples  by  the  outraged  and  irate 
Mayor  and  his  governing  officials. 

Adam  decided  to  give  up  politics  temporarily,  hav- 
ing immensely  enjoyed  his  first  flight  among  them, 
nevertheless.     He  wrote  to  Marie, — calling  her  "Bele 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  ARRAS     121 

tres  douche  amie  chere  (Beautiful,  dear  and  very  sweet 
love)" — and  being  in  a  genial  humour,  did  his  best  to 
pacify  and  cheer  poor  Maitre  Henri,  who  was  as  ill- 
tempered  just  then  as  his  son  was  amiable. 

They  remained  away  but  a  short  time.  The  storm 
was  soon  lulled,  and  by  the  time  they  ventured  back 
Arras  was  no  worse  and  no  better  than  usual. 
Promptly  after  this  return  Adam  and  Marie  were  mar- 
ried. 

For  a  space  Adam  revelled  in  a  dream  of  the  con- 
sistency and  hue  of  a  sunset  cloud.  He  lived  in  love, 
and  looked  on  life  through  a  shining  web  that  was 
woven  half  of  sunshine,  half  of  Marie's  bright  hair. 
He  saw  the  world  reflected  in  her  eyes,  and  her  voice 
drowned  for  him  the  clamour  of  the  tongues  of  men. 
He  found  the  beating  of  her  heart  more  inspiring  than 
shouts  of  revelry,  the  sight  of  her  tender  face  more 
wonderful  than  incense-clouded  altars,  the  touch  of 
her  hand  or  lips  more  thrilling  than  the  ebb  and  flow 
of  revolutions. 

Marie  must  have  been  a  rarely  sweet  and  fascinat- 
ing woman,  for  she  held  her  erratic  husband  for  sev- 
eral years, — much  longer  than  any  one  could  reason- 
ably have  believed  possible.  Children  came  to  them, 
and  their  life  seemed  tranquil  and  complete. 

Suddenly,  one  day,  Adam  le  Bossu  walked  out  of  his 
house  and  never  came  back. 

Love  and  Marriage,  like  Dissipation,  Religion  and 


122  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Politics,  had  palled  upon  him.  He  had  gone  to  Paris 
to  devote  himself  to  music  and  literature ! 

At  this  time  his  brain  was  acutely  active,  and  he 
composed  song  after  song,  satire  after  satire,  and 
drama  after  drama,  with  never-flagging  inspiration. 
He  wrote  of  himself  in  the  third  person,  and  intro- 
duced fanciful  characters  (like  his  famous  "Fee 
Maglore,"  the  evil  genius)  to  typify  the  good  and 
bad  elements  in  his  life.  But  despite  these  whimsical- 
ities all  his  work  of  this  period  was  frankly, — too 
frankly, — autobiographical. 

In  the  treatise  on  Marriage,  which  appears  in  the 
guise  of  a  dialogue  in  his  "Play  of  Adam,"  he  told  the 
story  of  his  love  for  INIarie,  holding  it  up  to  ridicule 
as  only  he  had  the  skill  and  wit  to  do,  exposing  her  to 
the  jests  of  the  public,  and  himself  to  the  horror  and 
disgust  of  posterity. 

There  are  passages  in  this  clever  but  unpardonable 
bit  of  work  which  rend  our  sympathies  into  a  tattered 
web  that  is  inadequate  to  cover  the  physical  and  moral 
malformations  of  the  Hunchback  of  Arras. 

Yet  he  could  write  charmingl}-,  tenderl\'.     We  feel 

our  kindly  feelings  being  bought  back  grudgingly  by 

the  simplicity  and  grace  of  such  lines  as  these: 

"Thanks,  Love,  for  all  the  sorrows  soft  and  sweet, 
That,  mastering  my  heart,  you  wake  in  me, 
For  her, — the  best  and  the  most  beautifxil 
A  man  could  ever  love  or  ever  serve 
Without  deserving  her.     .     .     ." 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  ARRAS      123 

To  the  lady  of  his  heart  (whoever  she  was  at  the 
time )  he  sings : 

"Ah!  I  could  never  bring  to  you 
The  gracious,  fair  and  gentle  things 
That  you  have  caused  to  come  to  me; 
For  I'  have  loved, — yea ! — and  desired,     .     .     ." 

He  wrote  dehghtful  music,  too ;  not  only, — states 
one  writer, — composing  some  of  the  most  delicious 
chansons  of  medizeval  times,  but  anticipating  the  spon- 
taneous character  of  latter-day  lyrics,  and  sowing  the 
seeds  both  of  Vaudeville  and  Opera  Comique. 

Such  brilliant  work  did  he  do  that  the  Count  of 
Artois  (Robert  II.,  nephew  of  St.  Louis)  installed  him 
as  his  Court  Composer  and  Singer.  It  was  a  great 
position,  and  Adam  made  great  use  of  it.  He  was 
soon  as  efficient  a  courtier  as  he  was  a  Master  of  Music 
and  of  Literature,  and,  with  his  slender  bent  frame 
sumptuously  dressed,  he  was  a  conspicuous  figure  at 
all  the  great  festivals  and  entertainments  of  the  Artois 
Court. 

From  this  time  until  his  death  Adam  dc  la  Halle 
worked  unceasingly.  He  was  one  who,  while  seldom 
living  deeply,  always  lived  vividly.  His  loves,  if  brief, 
were  ardent ;  his  work,  if  superficial,  was  brilliant.  He 
was  a  bad  friend  and  a  worse  lover,  but  he  had  the 
gift  of  magnetism  which  held  both  friendship  and 
affection  long  after  he  had  ceased  to  wish  for  it. 
Through  all  the  changes  of  Iiis  life,    his    dramatic 


124.  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

sense  was  paramount.'  He  turned  his  poems  and  his 
political  essays  into  miniature  plays,  and  he  lived  even 
more  theatrically  than  he  wrote.  But  he  possessed  the 
ability  and  the  will  to  work ;  dowered  with  almost 
all  faults,  human  and  otherwise,  he  yet  lacked  one — 
laziness.  He  never  shirked,  seldom  rested,  and  burned 
up  the  fuel  of  his  insufficient  bodily  strength  in  forty- 
six  glittering  years. 

In  1282,  by  command  of  Philippe  the  Bold,  the 
Comte  d'Artois  went  with  the  Due  d'Alcn^on  to 
Naples,  to  aid  the  Due  d'Anjou  in  avenging  the 
Vepres  Siciliennes.  Most  of  the  Court  of  Artois 
went  too,  and,  of  course,  Adam  le  Bossu.  In  the  two 
Sicilies  the  Court  was  bored,  for  there  was  much  time 
to  wile  away  and  not  enough  fighting  to  be  really  ex- 
citing. So  Adam  set  himself  the  task  of  amusing  and 
entertaining  these  gay  beings,  one  of  whom  he  now 
accounted  himself.  And  so  it  came  about  that  he 
wrote  his  masterpiece,  the  drama  "Robin  et  Marion." 

It  was  modelled  on  the  theme  of  the  ancient  pas- 
torale, but  bears  to  it  the  relation  which  the  finished 
orchestral  suite  has  to  its  opening  motif.  "Robin" 
is  a  delightful  achievement,  even  judging  it  apart  from 
the  day  in  which  it  was  written.  Of  many  medifeval 
works  it  is  possible  to  say :  "How  wonderful — for  the 
Middle  Ages!"  But  to  be  able  to  say:  "How  won- 
derful !  When  was  it  written  ?"  is  the  only  test  and 
the  only  tribute.     "Robin  et  Marion"  is  a  great  work 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  ARRAS     1S5 

to-day,  even  as  it  was  a  great  work  in  1282.  It  is  as 
ageless  as  romance,  and  as  cosmopolitan  as  comedy. 
Its  dialogue  reads  almost  as  naturally  as  the  scenes  in 
a  modern  play,  yet  its  old-world  flavour  is  delicately 
and  surel}^  maintained  throughout.  Its  lyrics  are 
graceful,  its  melodies  spontaneous,  its  dramatic  action 
sufficiently  swift  to  excuse  the  slender  plot,  and  its 
humour  as  genuine  as  it  is  subtle. 

The  opening  of  the  play  discovers  the  pretty 
shepherdess,  Marion  or  INIarotc,  singing  softly  to  her- 
self the  song,  "Robin  M'aime,"  of  which  the  following 
is  rather  too  free  an  adaptation  to  be  called  a  transla- 
tion: 

"Robin  loves  me,  loves  but  me; 
Robin's  asked  me  if  his  love  I'll  truly  be. 
Robin's  bought  me  dainty  things  in  lover's  fashion, 
Sung  me  many  tender  songs  to  prove  his  faithful  passion. 
True  lovers  we! 

H^,  Robin!     If  thou  lovest  me. 
For  love's  sake  come  to  me ! 
Uol)in  loves  me,  loves  but  me, — 
Robin's  asked  me  if  his  love  I'll  truly  be!" 

A  Chevalier  a})pears  upon  the  scene,  riding  a  fine 
palfrey,  and  recalling  to  our  minds  Thibault's  "Chan- 
son du  Roy  !"     '^J'hc  dialogue  runs  as  follows : 

"C'hfuvilier:    Shciilicrdcss,   God    give   you    good-day. 
"Marion:   God   keep  you,  my  Lord. 

"Chev.:  P'or  love's  sake,  sweet  maid,  tell  me  for  whom  do 
you  sing  with  such  good-will: 


126  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

"'Hb,  Robin!     If  thou  lovest  me, 
For  love's  sake,  come  to  me!' 

"Mar.:  Fair  sir,  it  is  simply  told:  I  love  Robinet  and  he 
me.  .  .  .  Lord,  suffer  me  to  know  what  manner  of  beast 
you  carry  on  your  hand. 

"Chev.:  A  falcon. 

"Mar.:  Will  it  eat  bread? 

"Chev. :  No,  only  good  flesh. 

"Mar.:  That  beast!     Truly? 

"Chev. :  Careful !  It  would  not  mind  proving  it.  .  .  . 
Tell  me,  sweet  shepherdess,  have  you  ever  loved  a  cavalier? 

"Mar. :  Fair  sir,  before  you  came,  I  knew  not  what  cavaliers 
might  be.  Of  all  the  men  on  earth  I  have  only  loved  Robin. 
He  comes  night  and  morning,  by  long  custom;  he  brings  me 
cheese  and  milk, — and  even  now  I  carry  next  my  heart  a  big 
piece   of   bread   which   he   brought   me   to-day. 

"Chev.:  Say,  then,  sweet  shepherdess, — would  you  come  with 
me,  mount  my  fair  palfrey  and  ride  away  with  me  from  the 
wood  and  the  valley? 

"Mar.:  My  Lord,  mount  your  horse.  He  is  not  for  me. 
.     .     .     Your  name? 

"Chev.:   Aubert. 

"Mar.:  My  Lord  Aubert,  you  waste  your  time.  I  shall  love 
none  but  Robinet. 

"Chev.:  None,  Shepherdess? 

"Mar. :  None,  by  my  faith ! 

"Chev. :  I  a  cavalier,  and  you  a  shepherdess ! — Must  I  en- 
treat you? 

"Mar.:  I  shall  never  love  you.  Shepherdess  am  I,  in  good 
truth,  but  I  have  a  lover  who  is  handsome,  good,  merry  and 
brave.    What  more  could  you  offer? 

"Chev.:  Shepherdess,  God  give  you  joy." 

He  rides  away,  Marion  singing  "Tirili,  tirila"  after 
him,  varying  it  with  snatches  from  "Robin  M'aime." 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  ARRAS      127 

Later  on  in  the  play  the  Chevalier  appears  once 
more  at  a  village  gathering.  He  seeks  a  quarrel  with 
Robin,  knocks  him  down,  and  makes  violent  love  to 
Marion,  hoping  that  her  lover's  defeat  will  have  shaken 
her  loyalty-.  She,  however,  is  more  than  ever  violently 
opposed  to  his  wooing,  and  he  finally  departs  after 
a  very  good  comedy  scene.  Marion  flies  to  Robin's 
arms,  scolding  him  furiously  for  his  cowardice,  but 
evidently  loving  him  too  well  to  even  transiently  re- 
gret the  Chevalier. 

The  climax  of  the  little  play  is  the  dance  "La 
Tresque,"  which  is  led  by  Robin  and  Marion,  and  in 
which  all  the  villagers  join.  La  Tresque  or  ""La 
Danse  de  Robin,"  as  it  has  come  to  be  called,  is  a  dance 
without  end.  One  may  dance  it  forever,  or  at  least 
as  long  as  one  has  breath  or  strength.  So  a  great 
many  years  ago  they  made  a  proverb, — which  is  still 
common  in  Artois  and  Flanders : 

"Ch'est  sans  fin 
Com'  r  danse  Robin, 
(It  is  without  an  end 
Like  Robin's  dance)." 

An  old  English  account  of  the  play  (written  1632) 
describes  it  as  being  "a  merrie  and  extcmporall  song, 
or  fashion  of  singing,  whereto  one  is  ever  adding  some- 
what, or  may  at  pleasure  add  what  he  list."  Evi- 
dently Adam  left  much  to  the  judgment  of  his  singers, 
— which  after  all  showed  his  intelligence.     From  that 


128  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

broad  "ad  libitum"  was  born  a  freshness  and  spon- 
taneity whicli  was  quite  essential  both  to  the  musical 
and  dramatic  success  of  the  work. 

"Robin  ct  Marion"  was  Adam's  climax  in  life.  In 
it  he  laid  the  corner-stone  of  a  future  music-drama, 
besides  rounding  out  and  developing  the  embryo 
song  of  the  Middle  Ages.  After  "Robin"  he  wrote 
very  little.  When  he  was  forty-six  he  died  in  Naples, 
and  was  buried  with  immense  pomp,  and  all  the  honours 
of  the  great,  by  his  patron,  Robert  d'Artois. 

What  became  of  his  father,  the  excellent  Maitre 
Henri,  or  his  wife,  "la  jolie  Marie,"  and  her  children, 
we  know  not.  Jehan  Mados,  a  jongleur  and  the  son 
of  Adam's  sister,  speaks  adoringly  of  "Maistre  Adam 
li  Bochu."  But  for  that  matter  they  all  adored  him, 
even  while  they  distrusted  his  heart  and  feared  his 
brain.  Those  who  had  least  cause  to  love  him  cher- 
ished a  secret  worship  for  him  through  every  compli- 
cation. We  may  be  certain  that  Marie  inculcated  in 
the  hearts  of  her  babies  a  loving  reverence  for  their 
gifted  father,- — while  he,  doubtless,  was  whispering 
suave  and  witty  speeches  in  the  ears  of  Court  ladies. 

Ah,  Adam  de  la  Halle, — Adam  le  Bossu !  What 
was  your  secret .?  Your  ability  might  have  won  their 
admiration,  and  your  achievements  their  respect ; — 
but  what  won  their  love.^*  Was  there  indeed  some 
masked  and  muffled  tenderness  about  you  that  the  few 
had  power  to  recognise.''     Or  did  Marie's  love  spring, 


THE  HUNCHBACK  OF  ARRAS     129 

full  grown,  irrational  and  divine,  from  an  over-faith- 
ful soul?  No  man  shall  ever  answer  the  riddle;  yet 
all  men,  even  after  these  many  years,  can  feel  your 
spell  and  bow  to  it, — Adam  le  Bossu,  Hunchback  of 
Arras. 


WITH    THE    CASTANETS 


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WITH    THE    CASTANETS 


SONG  is  not  the  product  of  cultivation  but  of  in- 
spiration, and  the  elements  which  make  for  lyrical 
excellence  are  such  spontaneous  qualities  as  may  be 
noted  in  the  street  ballads  of  a  nation  oftener  than  in 
the  works  of  her  masters.  So,  in  every  land,  the  cor- 
ner-stone of  vocal  melody  has  been  laid  by  the  Folk- 
Song.  Not  only  has  this  peculiar  branch  of  music  a 
charm  and  freshness  quite  its  own,  but  it  is  not  seldom 
a  gold-mine  of  real  value,  showing  us  a  freedom  of 
melody  and  an  elasticity  of  development  which  it  has 
taken  the  various  schools  of  composition  many  hun- 
dreds of  years  to  achieve.  The  folk-songs  of  the  most 
ancient  days  have  the  infectious  quality  of  the  best 
class  of  inoucrn  popular  music.  In  an  age  when  Har- 
mony was  still  an  unexplored  country,  and  learned 
Descanters  and  students  were  framing  laborious  airs 
as  a  mason  builds  an  important  and  imposing  structure 
of  well-measured  stone  blocks, — the  g^'psies  and  the 
ballad-mongers,  the  jongleurs  and  the  careless  coun- 
try-folk were  creating  the  Melody  of  the  Future — the 
Folk-Song. 


134.  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Song  would  seem  to  be  one  of  the  most  universally 
instinctive  ways  of  expressing  joy  or  sorrow  that  the 
world  knows  or  has  ever  known.  From  the  beginning 
of  time,  men  and  women  have  sung, — without  knowl- 
edge or  teaching,  and  guided  only  by  their  hearts. 
And  the  songs  that  they  have  sung  have  been  good 
songs,  and  such  as  no  composer  has  ever  learned  how 
to  copy,  though  many  have  tried.  For  Song,  as  dis- 
tinct from  Music  in  general,  is  emotional, — pui'ely, 
utterly,  supremely  elemental.  It  is,  in  its  inherent 
essentials,  as  primitive  as  passion  or  self-preservation. 
And  therefore  it  is  universal,  simple,  and  not  to  be 
counterfeited. 

The  serenades  and  love-songs  of  the  world  were 
born  from  the  ardour  of  lovers,  grew  to  fullness  of  be- 
ing in  the  warmth  of  languorous  da3\s  and  the  magic  of 
silver  nights, — and  died  on  the  lips  of  the  beloved. 
The  lullabies  grew  in  the  hearts  of  mothers,  with  the 
growth  of  the  new  life,  and  found  their  crown  of 
honour  when  they  were  crooned,  in  tremulous  proud 
murmurs,  above  the  mystery  of  drowsy  baby  eyes.  The 
dirges  were  first  the  broken  laments  of  mourners, — 
swelling,  in  time,  to  a  wailing  protest,  and  celebrating 
the  unvarying  tragedy  of  loss, — the  inconsolable  ache 
in  the  souls  of  those  who  had  been  forgotten  by  the 
grim,  shadowy  Visitor. 

Such  things  required  no  harmonic  knowledge,  nor 
yet  any  great  genius  in  the  art  of  making  melodies. 


WITH  THE  CASTANETS  135 

One  had  no  need  to  be  a  musician ;  it  was  only  neces- 
sary to  have  lived. 

A  few  tears,  a  few  kisses,  a  few  heart-throbs,  a  few 
ripples  of  laughter ;  a  few  sighs,  and  sobs,  and  solemn 
farewells,  and  love-whispers ;  a  few  pauses  full  of  pain 
or  rapture ;  the  heavy  tread  of  mourners  bearing  a 
white  Mystery  to  Mother  Earth ;  the  feverish  hurry- 
ing steps  of  dancers,  keeping  time  to  their  own  restless 
pulses ;  a  prayer,  broken  by  a  blush  or  a  hope, — a 
dream  hushed  by  a  memory.  .  .  .  And  the  Folk- 
Song  was  made. 

Among  all  the  ancient  folk-songs  that  sprang  into 
vivid  growth  all  over  the  speaking  earth  in  the  early 
ages,  there  probably  was  no  national  lyric  music  Avhich 
was  so  trul}^  great  as  that  of  Spain.  George  Ticknor 
declares  that  the  jNIinnesinger  and  Troubadours  were 
over-refined,  and  in  their  extreme  precision  of  nota- 
tion and  delicacy  of  musical  art  missed  the  fire  and 
vitality  necessary  for  really  great  songs.  He  insists 
that  the  Spanish  Folk-Song  of  the  twelfth,  thirteenth, 
and  fourteenth  centuries  reached  points  which  neither 
Trouvere  nor  Minnesanger  ever  imagined.  In  no 
sense  does  he  extol  the  Spanish  Art-Form  beyond  that 
of  other  lands,  but  he  says  that  the  music  of  the  people 
is  more  innately  vigorous  and  spontaneous, — ".  .  . 
Embodying  the  excited  poetical  feeling  that  filled  the 
whole   nation   during  that   period   when   the   Moorish 


136  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

power  was  gradually  broken  down  by  an  enthusiasm 
that  became  at  last  irresistible." 

The  bitter  struggle  between  the  Spanish  and  Moor- 
ish elements  during  the  Oriental  invasion  and  habita- 
tion is  a  subject  which  has  been  drained  dry  by  his- 
torians, essayists,  poets,  and  the  makers  of  plays.  It 
is  unnecessary  for  us  to  dwell  upon  it  here,  since  the 
matter  concerns  us  only  in  so  much  as  it  may  have 
influenced  the  songs  of  Castille  and  Galicia.  Very 
slight  was  the  Oriental  colouring  given  to  the  national 
music  of  Spain,  for  the  hostility  between  the  two  peo- 
ples was  so  strong  as  to  repel  the  possibility  of  any 
inter-racial  influence  whatever.  But  the  eff'ect  of  the 
Mohammedans'  presence  on  Spanish  soil  was  felt  in 
the  seething  revolt  and  passion  of  the  Spanish  people 
and  thus  in  their  lyrics. 

The  times  were  fiery  and  unquiet.  One  great 
national  crisis  followed  another,  and  the  impressionable 
hearts  all  over  the  country  beat  at  top  speed  year  after 
year.  There  seemed  no  cessation  in  the  whirl  of  blood- 
shed, tyranny,  struggle,  rebellion,  treachery  and  pain. 
And  this  turbulence  and  unrest,  this  danger  and  mad- 
ness eddied  through  the  current  of  their  music,  creat- 
ing a  wild,  strange  trick  of  melody,  and  a  rhythm  as 
uneven  as  waves  driven  upon  the  shore  by  storm  winds. 

Yet  through  all  the  restless  and  even  violent  meas- 
ures ran  the  blood  of  Spain — which  is  warm  blood,  and 
sensuous,  with  a  separate  pulse  for  love,  and  another 


WITH  THE  CASTANETS  137 

for  Inconsequent  delight.  So,  however  fiery  and  wild 
the  melody,  it  nevertheless  carries  its  sub-current  of 
languorous  Southern  passion.  It  is  as  though  beneath 
the  turbid,  seething  rush  of  wind-lashed  waters  one 
could  catch  glimpses  of  a  great  gorgeous  sea-serpent 
painted  in  many  glimmering  hues,  and  moving  slow, 
shining  coils  far  below  the  tempest's  reach. 

To  Spain  pre-eminently  belongs  the  Dance  Song. 
This  wonderful  type  of  folk-song  combined  music, 
poetry,  motion,  and  sometimes  pantomimic  action  as 
well.  The  latter  are  called  "Danzas  habladas,"  and 
are  less  popular  than  the  simple  Dance  Song. 

There  were,  in  the  years  of  which  we  are  writing, 
countless  dances  in  Spain, — all  seductive  and  beauti- 
ful, all  accompanied  by  the  intoxicating  castanet-em- 
phasis,  and  "all,"  says  Guevara,  "invented  by  the 
Devil."  There  was  the  Zarabanda,  named,  we  learn 
from  Mariarea,  "for  La  Zarabanda,  a  devil  in  wo- 
man's shape  that  lived  in  Seville."  There  was  the  Fan- 
dango, in  which  the  castanet  or  crotola  (a  kind  of 
Castanet)  was  peculiarly  prominent;  the  Xacara, — a 
sort  of  drinking-song,  with  incidental  dancing,  recited, 
in  what  was  called  the  Rogue's  Dialect,  and  by  that 
class  of  roysterers  known  also  as  the  Xacaras ;  the 
Rondena,  the  Malagucna,  the  Cachua,  the  Gitana,  the 
Bolero,  the  Gambeta,  the  Caballero,  the  Alemana,  the 
Zapateta,  the  Jota,  the  Bayle,  and  a  dozen  others. 
Some  of  these  dances  received  their  names  from  the 


138  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

places  where  they  originated,  others  from  the  favour- 
ites who  danced  them.  But  most  characteristic  of  all 
was  the  Seguidilla, — that  magical  delirium  of  music 
and  motion  which  shall  typify  Spain  to  the  end  of 
time  as  it  has  from  the  beginning. 

An  old  book  by  Zamacola  describes  the  Seguidilla 
in  this  way : 

"So  soon  as  two  young  people  of  the  opposite  sexes 
present  themselves,  standing  face  to  face  at  a  distance 
of  about  two  varas"  (that  is,  sixty-eight  inches)  "the 
ritornelo  or  prelude  to  the  music  begins ;  then  the 
Seguidilla  is  insinuated  by  the  voice.  .  .  .  The 
guitar  follows,  playing  a  pasacalle"  (popular  street- 
song)  "and  at  the  fourth  bar  the  Seguidilla  begins 
to  be  sung.  Then  the  dance  breaks  out  with  casta- 
nets or  crotolas,  running  on  for  a  space  of  nine  bars, 
with  which  the  first  part  concludes.  The  guitar  con- 
tinues playing  the  pasacalle.  ...  At  the  close,  the 
voice,  the  instruments  and  the  castanets  cease  all  at 
once,  and,  as  if  impromptu,  the  room  remaining  in 
silence,  and  the  dancers  standing  immovable  in  various 
beautiful  attitudes,  which  is  what  we  call  bien  parado 
(well-stopped).   ..." 

The  words  of  the  Dance  Songs  were  sung  in  a  sort 
of  sing-song  recitative,  that  occasionally  broke  into 
sudden  melody.  These  words  were  called  the  Coplas, 
and  there  are  many  coplas  which  are  both  beautiful 
and  witty.     Most  of  the  colour  and  character  of  the 


WITH  THE  CASTANETS  139 

melodies  was  given  by  the  dancers  and  the  dance- 
music, — ahvays  most  rich  and  full  of  fire  and  poetry. 

Out  in  the  woods  the  Homeless  Folk  loved  the  Dance 
Songs  as  well  as  did  the  gay  people  of  Seville  and 
Madrid.  The  country  people  sang  and  danced  them 
at  twilight,  the  villages  swayed  to  their  measures,  the 
whole  air  of  Spain  quivered  with  the  magical,  wonder- 
ful infection  of  the  Seguidilla.  Then  there  was  the 
Chacona  (Chaconne) — a  dance  which  was  very  popu- 
lar at  one  time,  and  was  used  as  an  accompaniment  to 
some  of  the  best  known  and  best  loved  of  the  street 
ballads.  Some  authorities  contend  that  its  name  is  de- 
rived from  the  Basque  word  cJiocunu, — which  means 
"pretty"  or  "charming."  Othei  ^  declare  that  it  comes 
from  Cieco, — the  blind.  This  latter  supposition  is  the 
more  interesting  for  the  following  curious  reason: 
The  ballads  and  folk-songs  of  Spain,  never  having 
been  written  down,  have  been  preserved  in  their  entire 
and  accurate  form  only  by  the  blind  beggars  of  the 
city  streets.  What  fancy,  chance  or  superstition 
originally  was  at  the  root  of  this  immutable  tradition 
we  do  not  know,  but  it  is  oi.e  of  the  accepted  facts  of 
musical  history  and  of  Spanish  custom. 

And  to  this  day,  if  om  wishes  to  hear  the  old  folk- 
songs sung  in  the  form  in  which  they  were  sung  six 
hundred  years  ago,  one  must  go  to  the  blind  beggars 
of  Madrid  and  Seville. 

With  the  melodies  and  words  entrusted  to  the  mem- 


140  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

ories  of  these  sightless  ones,  and  the  dance-steps  imi- 
tated by  every  child  as  soon  as  he  or  she  could  toddle, 
the  national  folk-music  of  Spain  was  preserved  cen- 
tury after  century.  And  no  other  music  probably, 
save  possibly  that  of  the  Magyar  people,  has  altered  so 
little  with  the  development  and  changes  of  the  years. 

But  besides  the  Dance-Songs,  there  were  two  other 
characteristic  manifestations  of  lyrical  sentiment.  One 
was  the  Patriotic  Song, — usually  eulogising  "the 
Cid,"  the  national  hero, — and  the  other  was  the  Ballad. 
And  these  also  were  preserved  and  guarded  by  the  blind 
wanderers  of  the  streets. 

Who  shall  dare  attempt  to  do  justice  to  the  Ballads 
of  Spain  without  a  pen  dipped  in  enchanted  fluid.'' 
Never  were  folk-songs  so  simple,  and  never  were  any 
so  delicious.  They  have  a  twist  of  easy  colloquial 
humour  very  surprising  when  one  considers  their  an- 
tiquity, and  their  romance  is  invariably  of  the  pierc- 
ingly human  quality  so  rare  in  Proven9al  literature. 
They  are  direct  in  idea  and  in  expression.  Though  the 
thought  may  be  a  delicate  and  subtle  one  there  is  never 
a  waste  of  good  words  in  an  attempt  to  reproduce  un- 
important gradations  of  meaning.  And  they  are 
original, — definitely,  poignantly,  vitally  original. 
Here,  for  instance,  is  the  famous  ballad  "Fonte  frida, 
Fonte  frida."  It  represents  some  half -savage  and  be- 
reaved woman,  violently  repulsing  the  love  that  is 
secretly  tempting  her  heart: 


WITH  THE  CASTANETS  141 

^"Cooling  fountain,  cooling  fountain, 

Cooling   fountain   full   of  love. 
When  the  little  birds   all   gather 

Thy  refreshing  power  to  prove, 
All  except  the  widowed  turtle 

Full   of   grief,— the   turtle   dove. 

"There   the  traitor  nightingale 

All  by  chance  once  passed  along, 

Uttering  words  of  basest  falsehood 

In   his   guilty   treacherous   song: 

"*If  it  please  thee,  gentle  lady, 
I  thy  servant-love  would  be.' 

•Hence, — begone,  ungracious  traitor! 
Base  deceiver,  hence   from  me! 

"  'I  nor  rest  upon  green  branches. 
Nor  amid  the  meadow's  flowers; 
The  very  wave  my  thirst  that  quenches 
Seek  I  where  it  turbid  pours. 

"  'No  wedded  love  my  soul  shall  know, 

Lest  children's  hearts  my  heart  should  win. 
No  pleasure  would  I  seek  for, — no! 
No  consolation   feel  witliin. 

"  'So  leave  me  sad,  thou  enemy. 

Thou    foul   and   base   deceiver — go! 
For  I   thy  love  will   never  be. 

Nor  ever, — false  one, — wed  thee ; — no !'  " 

And    here    is    a    charming    dialogue    between    two 
^Translation  by  George  Ticknor. 


142  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

lovers  who  have  been  separated  through  treachery,  and 
are  just  beginning  to  find  it  out.  In  the  original  it  is 
known  as  "Rosa  fresca,  Rosa  fresca,"  and  may  have 
served  as  a  model  for  the  "Fonte  frida"  just  quoted. 
The  man  begins : 

^"  'Rose  fresh  and  fair,  Rose  fresh  and  fair. 
That  with  love  so  bright  doth  glow, 
When  within  my  arms  I  held  tliee, 

I   could  never  serve  thee,  no ! 
And  now  that  I  would  gladly  serve  thee, 
,  I  can  no  more  see  thee,  no !' 

"'The  fault,  my  friend,  the  fault  was  thine, — 

Thy  fault  alone,  and  not  mine,  no ! 
A  message  came,  the  words  you  sent. 

Your  servant  brought  it,  well  you  know. 
And  nought  of  love  or  loving  bands 

But   other  words  indeed  it  said: 
That  you,  my  friend,  in  Leon's  lands 

A  noble  dame  had  long  since  wed; — 
A   lady   fair  as    fair  could  be, 
Her  children  bright  as  flowers  to  see.' 

"  'Who  told  that  tale,  who  spoke  those  words. 

No  truth  he  spoke,  my  lady,  no! 
For  Castille's  lands  I  never  saw. 

Of  Leon's  moimtains  nothing  know, 
Save  as  a  little  child,  I  ween, 
Too  young  to  know  what  love  should  mean.' " 

As  has  been  said  already,  the  chief    hero    of    the 
mediaeval  patriotic  songs  of  Spain  was  tlie  "Cid,"  and 
^Translation  by  George  Ticknor. 


WITH  THE  CASTANETS  143 

since  it  was  so  we  should  pause  for  a  brief  moment  to 
consider  this  curious  and  picturesque  figure  of  an- 
cient days. 

Roderigo,  or  Ru}',  Diez  de  Bivar  was  bom  in  Bivar, 
near  Burgos,  in  10-iO,  and  died  in  Valencia  in  1099, 
after  a  sufficiently  exciting  career.  He  held  sway 
over  large  numbers  of  vassals,  both  Christian  and 
Mohammedan,  and  from  them  received  the  title  "Mio 
Cid."  The  word  is  derived  from  the  Seyyid  of  Arra- 
gon,  which  means  "Master,"  and  the  phrase  Mio  Cid 
means  literally  Monseigneur,  and  is  merely  a  pic- 
turesque way  of  indicating  that  he  was  an  over-lord  of 
power.  He  began  to  show  a  predilection  for  battle, 
murder,  and  sudden  death  while  he  was  still  very 
young,  and  at  the  outset  of  his  career  received  great 
happiness  from  killing  a  foreign  champion  in  a  tour- 
ney. To  follow  the  steps  of  his  long  and  blood-stained 
life  would  require  much  space  and  a  love  for  horrors ; 
suffice  it  to  say  that  his  prowess  in  repulsing  the  Moors 
and  his  many  other  valiant  deeds  won  for  him  the  title 
not  only  of  "Cid,"  but  of  "El  Campeador,"— which 
may  mean  either  Challenger,  or  Champion,  or  both. 
In  the  war  between  Sancho  and  Alfonso,  the  sons  of 
Fernando  I.,  the  Cid  gave  his  allegiance  to  the  former. 
When  Sancho  came  to  the  throne,  Roderigo  defended 
and  browbeat  him  in  a  loyal  but  characteristic  manner. 
At  the  Siege  of  Zamora  Sancho  was  stabbed  in  the 
back,  and  Alfonso  was  made  King,  faute  de  mieux, — 


144.  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

though  his  people  were  far  from  enthusiastic.  When 
he  was  crowned,  it  was  the  Cid  who  made  him  swear 
'publicly  that  he  had  had  no  hand  in  his  brother's  mur- 
der! The  impHed  suspicion  hurt  Alfonso  in  the  eyes 
of  his  subjects,  and  he  never  forgave  Roderigo. 
Nevertheless,  he  made  for  him  a  match  which  came 
close  to  being  royal, — wedding  him  to  Ximena,  the 
brave  and  beautiful  daughter  of  the  Count  of  Oviedo. 
The  semi-barbaric  sentiment  of  the  Middle  Ages  is 
voiced  in  one  old  ballad  which  makes  Ximena  ask  the 
King  to  give  her  as  wife  to  El  Campeador  because  he 
has  had  the  courage  and  the  strength  to  kill  her 
redoubtable  father! 

Ximena  is  described  by  the  old  historians  and 
romancers  alike  as  being  "fit,  in  body  as  in  mind,  to 
mate  with  El  Campeador."  High  praise,  for  the  Cid 
was  a  man  whose  robust  mentality  and  great  physical 
strength  were  far  beyond  the  standards  even  of  that 
period  of  universal  superlatives.  The  Cid  and  Ximena 
were  a  model  pair  of  lovers,  inasmuch  as  their  years 
of  wedded  life  amid  precarious  days  and  imminently 
dangerous  nights,  seemed  but  to  strengthen  the  firm- 
fibred  cord  which  bound  them  in  mutual  love  and 
understanding. 

After  an  exciting  record  the  day  came  when  the 
Cid  could  not  go  to  battle  with  his  men.  He  lay  ill 
in  Valencia,  with  the  Moors  outside  the  city  gates. 
He  sent  his  troops  out  to  meet  them,  but  the  whole 


WITH  THE  CASTANETS  145 

army  was  cut  to  pieces  near  the  city  walls.  The 
Moors — the  Almorabides  they  were, — spared  but  a 
crushed  handful  who  stumbled  back  into  Valencia  to 
pant  the  news.  When  their  master  heard  it  he  rose  to 
his  feet  in  his  agony,  and  then  fell,  stark  dead. 
Ximena  held  the  city  for  a  time,  while  the  Cid  lay 
dead,  and  his  few  remaining  followers  shivered  and 
whimpered  under  her  stern  directions.  But  at  last  she 
determined  to  make  no  further  attempt,  and  prepared 
to  escape  from  the  city. 

Then  the  little  band, — all  that  was  left  of  what  had 
once  been  the  army  of  the  Challenger, — left  Valencia, 
presenting  a  strange  and  terrible  picture.  For  they 
led  a  great  war-horse,  and  on  him  was  sitting  the  body 
of  El  Campeador,  Straight  and  stiff,  in  full  armour, 
with  his  great  sword  Tinoz  laid  across  the  horse's  neck 
before  him.  And  the  Moors,  seeing  this  wonderful 
thing,  cried  out,  "The  dead  hath  come  to  life!"  and 
fled  wildly  away  in  all  directions.  And  the  men 
passed  on,  leading  the  great  war-horse  with  the  dead 
body  of  their  master. 

Pool,  in  his  "Story  of  the  Moors,"  successfully  ex- 
plodes the  romancers'  theories  concerning  the  Ideal  and 
heroic  qualities  of  the  Cid.  He  pictures  him  as  a 
plunderer  and  a  blackguard,  a  lover  of  carnage  and  a 
despoiler  of  cities.  But  he  admits  the  genuine  if  brutal 
generosity  and  courage  of  the  man,  and  no  one  has  ever 
denied  his  value  as  a  picturesque  historical  figure. 


146  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

One  can  readily  understand  how  such  a  person  and 
such  a  career  should  have  appealed  to  the  emotional 
natures  of  the  Spanish  people,  and  how  dearly  they 
must  have  rejoiced  in  its  theatrical  elements.  For, 
beyond  all  else  a  love  for  things  dramatic  was  a  ruling 
power  in  the  lives  of  these  medieval  Spaniards. 

Every  one,  whether  he  could  or  not,  made  plays,  and 
even  acted  in  them.  One  sheep-shearer  became  quite 
famous  for  his  skill  in  dramatic  effects,  and  a  tailor  in 
Madrid,  who  cut  the  long  mantles  for  the  Spanish 
gallants,  also  won  a  decided  reputation  as  a  dramatist. 

Lope  de  Vega,  a  playwright  of  old-world  renown, 
wrote  in  his  "Gran  Sultana" : 

"There  ne'er  was   a  Spanish  woman  yet 
But  she  was  born  to  dance!" 

He  might  have  added  that  there  never  was  and 
never  would  be  a  Spanish  man  or  woman  who  was  not 
born  to  act.  It  is  in  their  blood,  and  comes  only 
second  to  their  love-making  and  their  dare-devil 
bravery.  Of  many  and  strange  sorts  were  the  dra- 
matic concoctions  of  that  day.  There  was  one  ghastly 
affair  called  the  "Dance  of  Death,"  in  which  Death, 
as  a  festive  skeleton,  invited  the  world  to  his  revels. 
Gay  music  accompanied  this  cheerful  invention,  mak- 
ing the  effect,  says  the  chronicler,  "most  impressive 
and  dreadful." 

There  was  a  certain  merry  prelate  called  Juan  Ruiz, 


WITH  THE  CASTANETS  147 

who  lived  and  died  in  the  first  half  of  the  fourteenth 
century.  He  was  the  Archpriest  of  Hita,  near 
Guadalajara,  and  he  wrote  a  rather  lengthy  dramatic 
effusion,  purporting  to  be  a  devout  work,  but  only  too 
evidently  the  resume  of  a  gay  though  somewhat  disil- 
lusioned life.  The  theme  was  not  new  even  then, — the 
eternal  struggle  between  earthly  and  divine  love, — 
and  though  he  made  for  it  a  pious  ending,  "the  work," 
— says  the  historian,  "is  a  book  of  buen  amor."  It  is 
chiefly  interesting  from  the  fact  that  lyrical  music 
played  a  prominent  part  in  its  production.  The 
chronicle  says  that  the  action  and  text  were  often  in- 
terrupted by  Cantigas,  or  songs ;  notably  "The  Song 
of  Scholars,"  and  "The  Song  of  the  Blind."  Juan 
Riafio  in  his  "Notes  on  Ancient  Spain,"  says  that  the 
Archpriest  introduced,  both  by  reference  and  indicated 
use,  great  numbers  of  mediaeval  musical  instruments  as 
well. 

Even  when  they  were  not  ostensibly  acting,  these 
children  of  Arragon  and  Castille  managed  to  be 
theatrical.  Whether  a  lover  was  touching  the 
mediaeval  equivalent  for  a  guitar  beneath  his  lady's 
window, — or  a  black-eyed  girl  was  dancing  in  the  mar- 
ket-place ;  whether  a  man  was  stabbing  another,  or 
marching  away  in  gay  costume  to  the  wars ;  whether 
they  were  burning  people  at  the  stake  or  besieging  the 
laboratory  of  such  an  innocent  alchemist  as  Don 
Enrique,    Marquis    of    Villena, — Spain    always    con- 


148  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

trived  to  be  spectacular  and  picturesque.  Sun  or 
moon,  stars  or  the  torches  in  the  street,  served  for  foot- 
lights. Give  them  a  melody, — something  to  stir  the 
soul  and  the  pulses, — and  a  sympathetic  audience,  and 
they  could  win  the  heart  from  the  coldest  breast,  and 
play  a  drama  which  thrilled  and  astounded  themselves 
most  of  all. 

All  that  they  did  was  artistic  and  effective.  Even 
the  watchmen  going  about  the  streets  at  night  had 
such  quaint  and  musical  calls  as  the  following: 


I 


g  m—'  f^  0^=-^=^—     0        m g: 


1 1 ^ w^ . . 1 1 

•     ve       Ma    ■    rl   -    a,      pu  -   ria  -  si  -    ma  1 " 

When  in  1323,  in  Toulouse,  on  the  Garonne,  the 
City  Magistrates  decided  to  found  a  Music  Guild,  how 
did  they  go  about  it.^*  Being  keenly  alive  to  the 
charm  of  humour  they  made  a  pretty  comedy  out  of 
it,  christened  themselves :  ^^Sohregayer  Companhia  dies 
Sept  Trobadors  de  Tolosa  (the  Very  Gay  Company 
of  the  Seven  Troubadours  of  Toulouse)  !"  They  sent 
forth  a  letter  to  the  world  at  large  summoning  all 
poets  and  singers  to  come  to  Toulouse  on  May-day  in 
1324,  "there  to  contest  with  joy  of  heart  for  the  prize 
of  a  golden  violet," 

Raimon  Vidal,  the  Trouvere,  won  the  prize,  with  a 
Hymn  to  the  Madonna,  and,  most  appropriately,  they 
made  him  a  ^'Doctor  of  the  Gay  Saber" — whatever 
that  may  mean ! 


WITH  THE  CASTANETS  149 

The  episode  was  very  Spanish ; — as  Spanish  as  the 
following  folk-song : 

^"Her  sister,  Miguela, 
Once  chid  little  Jane, 
And  the  words  that  she  spoke 
Gave  a  great  deal  of  pain: 

*"You   went    yesterday   playing, 
A  child  like  the  rest. 
And  now  you  come  out 

More  like  other   girls   dressed. 

"'You  take  pleasure  in  sighs. 
In  sad  music  delight, 
With  the  dawning  you  rise, 
And  sit  up  half  the  night. 

"'When  you  take  up  your  work 
You  look  vacant  and  stare. 
And  gaze  on  your  sampler 
But  miss  the  stitch  there. 

"  'You're   in   love,  people   say. 
Your  actions  all  show  it. 
New  ways  we  shall  have 
When  mother  shall  know  it! 

"'She'll  nail   up   the  windows 
And   lock   up   the   door; 
Leave  to  frolic  and  dance 
She  will  give  us  no  more. 

^Translation  by  George  Ticknor. 


150  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

"'Old  aunt  will  be  sent 
To  take  us  to  Mass, 
And  stop  all  our  talk 
With  the  girls  as  we  pass. 

"  'And  when  we  walk  out 

She  will  bid  the  old  shrew 
Keep  a  faithful  account 
Of  all  our  eyes  do; 

"  'And  mark  who  goes  by, 

If  I  peep  through  the  blind. 
And  be  sure  and  detect  us 
In  looking  behind. 

"  'Thus  for  your  idle  follies 
Must  I  suffer  too. 
And,  though  nothing  I've  done, 
Be  punished  like  you!' 

"'Oh,  Sister  Miguela, 

Your  chiding  pray  spare. 
That  I've  troubles  you  guess, 
But  not  what  they  are. 

•"Young  Pedro  it  is, 

Old  Juan's  fair  youth. 
But  he's  gone  to  the  wars. 
And  where  is  his  truth? 

"  'I  loved  him  sincerely, 
I  loved  all  he  said. 
But  I  fear  he  is  fickle, 
I  fear  he  is  fled. 


WITH  THE  CASTANETS  151 

"  'He  is  gone  of  free  choice, 
Without  summons  or  call. 
And  'tis  foolish  to  love  him 
Or  like  him  at  all!' 

"  'Nay,  rather  do  thou 
To  God  pray  above. 
Lest  Pedro  return, 

And  again  you  should  love,' 

"Said  Miguela  in  jest. 

As  she  answered  poor  Jane, 
'For  when  love  has  been  bought 

At  the  cost  of  such  pain, 

"  'What  hope  is  there,  sister. 
Unless  the  soul  part. 
That  the  passion  you  cherish 
Should  yield  up  your  heart? 

•"Your  years  will  increase. 

And  so  will  your  pain. 

And  this  you  may  learn 

From  the  proverb's  old  strain: 

•""If,  when  but  a  child. 

Love's  power  you  own, 
Pray  what  will  you  do 

When  you  older  are  grown?"'" 

They  really  were  a  charming  people.  When  one 
reads  of  their  burning  all  Don  Enrique's  valuable 
books  "because  they  related  to  Magic  and  unlawful 
Arts,"  one  feels  somewhat  out  of  sympathy  with  their 
methods.     The  same  is  true  of  the  chronicles  of  the 


152  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

peculiar  practices  of  the  Inquisition, — in  which  the 
Troubadours  suffered  seriously.  But  gleams  of  light 
like  the  romance  of  Macias  El  Enamorado  reconcile 
one  to  all  or  anything. 

If  he  had  any  other  name  no  man  knows  it  to-day ; — 
Macias  the  Lover  he  is  called  in  Spanish  history  and 
Spanish  literature.  He  is  a  very  popular  figure ; 
though  all  that  he  ever  did, — so  far  as  the  records  tell 
us, — was  to  sing.  He  sang  steadily  and  ceaselessly 
and  contentedly,  celebrating  the  loveliness  of  his  chosen 
lady.  His  master  was  the  Marquis  de  Villena.  The 
Marquis  had  not  yet  fallen  in  disrepute  with  the 
Church  on  account  of  suspected  necromancy.  And 
the  lady  whom  Macias  loved  was  of  the  princely  house- 
hold. Of  course  Macias,  being  only  an  esquire, 
though  a  Galician  gentleman,  could  not  be  permitted 
to  wed  the  lady,  but  he  went  on  singing  to  her  in- 
defatigably.  Meanwhile  they  married  her  to  a  Knight 
of  Porcuna.  But  still  Macias  kept  on  singing  about 
her,  singing  to  her,  singing  at  her.  The  Knight  of 
Porcuna  appealed  to  Don  Enrique,  who,  in  his  turn, 
appealed  to  Macias.  The  Marquis  remonstrated, 
threatened,  commanded  and  requested.  Macias  bent  a 
respectful  knee  before  his  master.  But  he  went  on 
singing.  Finally,  as  the  Knight  of  Porcuna  was  be- 
coming unbalanced  from  rage  Don  Enrique  was  forced 
to  exercise  his  right  as  Grand  Master  of  the  Order  of 
Calatrava,  and  put  Macias  in  prison.     But  Macias 


WITH  THE  CASTANETS  153 

kept  on  singing  even  in  prison.  To  the  bare  walls 
of  his  donjon-cell  he  warbled  his  melodious  praises  of 
his  lady  all  day  long, — and  part  of  the  night. 

One  day  the  Knight  of  Porcuna  wandered  along 
outside  the  prison  window  and  peered  in.  Macias  was 
sitting  with  a  beatific  smile  upon  his  lips,  singing  a 
soft  and  very  pretty  love-song  about  the  Knight  of 
Porcuna's  wife.  He  sang  on  and  on  in  an  ecstasy  of 
emotion  till  the  Knight  could  bear  it  no  longer.  So 
he  threw  a  dart  at  him  through  the  bars  of  the  prison 
window,  and  killed  him  in  the  middle  of  a  note.  Such 
was  the  life  and  death  of  Macias  the  Lover,  whose  one 
fault  seemed  to  be  that  he  lacked  temperance  in  song. 

That  story  is  intensely  Spanish,  from  first  to  last ! 
It  is  true  that  Macias  was  rather  a  wonderful  figure 
in  the  annals  of  his  time,  inasmuch  as  he  was  loyal. 
Constancy  was  not  a  shining  nor  conspicuous  virtue 
among  the  gallants  of  those  fierce,  gay,  wonderful  old 
days.  Love  came  and  went  with  the  speed  of  the 
flying  hours.  In  a  land  and  a  time  when  neither  man 
nor  woman  could  be  certain  of  to-morrow,  it  was  best 
to  drink,  eat,  dance  and  love  while  it  was  possible.  In 
those  days  every  parting  was  apt  to  be  the  last,  and  it 
was  well  not  to  leave  one's  sword  too  far  away  at  any 
time.  Women  laughed  and  danced  the  Seguidilla 
with  men  that  they  might  never  be  permitted  to  sec 
again.  Men  drank  deep  and  blundered  boisterously 
through  the  Xacara,  with  the  prospect  of  death  or 


154  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

torture  on  the  morrow.  There  was  the  light  echo  of 
dance-music  mingling  with  the  clanking  tramp  of 
armed  men.  There  were  kisses  snatched  with  bravado 
on  the  very  threshold  of  the  Tribunal  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion. 

They  lived  fast  in  those  days,  and  but  a  short  time. 
And  somehow  into  their  Dance-Songs  and  their  Ballads 
they  managed  to  put  the  spirit  of  their  race, — the 
reckless,  lavish  squandering  of  to-day, — the  careless, 
laughing  defiance  of  to-morrow ;  the  superstition,  the 
humour,  the  artificiality,  and  the  passionate  tenderness 
of  the  people's  soul.  In  the  coplas  which  have  been 
preserved  we  find  a  wonderful  versatility  and  freshness 
of  imagery  and  sentiment,  but,  as  an  example,  there 
is  one  which  is  preeminently  significant.  It  is  very 
brief,  and  holds  not  a  particularly  admirable  senti- 
ment, but  it  is  essentially  Spanish.  And  you  must 
think  of  it  as  being  recited  by  a  laughing,  dark-eyed 
youth  of  Seville,  while  his  newest  love  laughs  in  return, 
and  flashes  her  reckless  sympathy  in  a  glance.  And 
you  must  fancy  it  punctuated  by  the  stirring,  mad- 
dening, irresistible,  restless  click  of  the  castanets : 

"On  Monday  I  fall  in  love. 
On  Tuesday  I  say  so. 
On  Wednesday  I  declare  my  suit, 
On  Thursday  I  win  my  sweetheart, 
On  Friday  I  make  her  jealous, 
And  on  Saturday  and  Sunday— 
I  hunt  for  a  new  love!" 


A   MAKER   OF   SONGS   AND   SHOES 


ANCIENT   MAY   SONG 


lf<l'    ^     J 


=?= 


3: 


The       May    -    time,    the       May    -    time !    It 


i 


5=t 


1 r 


-t- 


-*— r- 


flUs       the     world   With       flowers!. 


God 


m 


:?= 


-!* — r- 


^     * 


-I r 


see  -  eth  what    I     yearn      for,  With  all    my  quickening 


i'i°    'i       J- 


f 


=it==S= 


=^ J- 


powers,  With        all      my    quickening     powers. 


VIII 


A   MAKER  OF    SONGS   AND   SHOES 


THAT  the  old  order  is  bound  to  change  is  a  tolerably 
well-established  fact ;  but  from  the  Troubadours,  the 
singers  of  folk-songs,  the  makers  of  plaintive  melodies 
and  love-verses,  and  the  rest  of  the  romantic  lyricists 
of  the  Southern  world,  it  is  a  very  far  cry  indeed  to 
the  Meistcrsinger  of  Germany.  And  between  the 
chansons  of  the  Troubadours,  and  the  Mastersongs 
which  grew  to  be  accepted  standards,  the  gulf  seems 
even  greater.  Yet  the  history  of  Songs  shows  us  that, 
after  the  era  of  minstrels,  the  treasure  of  song  passed 
next  into  the  guardianship  of  the  Mastersingers. 

The  Minnesanger  ("Love-Singer"),  a  sober  Teu- 
tonic copy  of  the  Troubadour,  Trouvere,  Trobadore, 
Trovatorc,  Bard  and  Minstrel  of  other  lands,  had  held 
gentle  sway  in  the  petty  courts  of  the  feudal  lords  of 
ancient  Germany,  for  his  allotted  number  of  years. 
Then  his  delicate  art,  never  meant  for  endurance  nor 
strain,  began  to  fail  before  the  turbulent  times  which 
seized  upon  Northern  Europe.  With  the  nobles  at 
war  one  against  the  other,  and  the  great  feudal  castles 
the  scenes  of  dissension,  siege  and  bloodshed  instead  of 


158  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

courtly  Song-Contests,  the  Minnesinger  disappeared. 
Art,  the  erstwhile  patron  of  princes  and  frequenter 
of  Courts,  came  to  the  safe  and  peaceful  towns  which 
were  not  peopled  with  men  sufficiently  exalted  for 
savagery,  and  took  shelter  under  the  somewhat  pom- 
pous protection  of  the  burgher  class. 

In  1380  one  Heinrich  von  Meissen  died  in  Maenz. 
He  it  was  whose  gracious  and  lovely  songs  in  honour 
of  woman  had  won  for  him  the  title  of  "Frauenlob 
(Praise  of  Women)."  And  as  Heinrich  Frauenlob  is 
he  known  to-day.  He  was  the  last  of  the  Minnesinger 
of  Germany,  and  the  founder  of  the  Meistersinger,  or 
Mastersingers.  He  is  the  recognised  connecting  link 
between  the  old  order  and  the  new,  and  as  such  is  a 
figure  of  great  interest  and  importance  in  musical 
history. 

When  he  died  he  was  borne  to  his  grave  by  women 
only.  All  the  wives  and  maidens  of  Maenz  followed 
weeping,  and,  according  to  the  ancient  custom, — a 
frank  survival  of  Paganism, — great  quantities  of  rare 
and  costly  wines  were  poured  upon  the  sod  that  covered 
him. 

Born  in  Meissen,  he  had  made  Maenz  his  home,  and 
there  founded  a  Guild  of  Singers.  They  had  under- 
taken the  reformation  of  lyrical  music — then  repre- 
sented by  the  comparatively  free  and  inspirational 
Folk-Songs  sung  by  the  Minnesinger, — and  its  de- 
velopment into  a  fine  art  and  an  exact  science. 


A  MAKER  OF  SONGS  AND  SHOES     159 

They  called  themselves  Mastersingers,  and  any  man 
daring  to  aspire  to  membership  was  forced  to  undergo 
the  strictest  sort  of  examination  in  music,  poetry,  and 
vocalisation.  Accuracy,  industry,  and  painstaking 
care  seemed  to  be  the  main  features  of  the  Master- 
singer's  art.  What  they  accomplished  was  of  ines- 
timable value  to  the  world  at  large,  undoubtedly,  but 
alas  for  the  spontaneous,  variable,  ever-changing  and, 
therefore,  utterly  inaccurate  lyrics  of  the  world  which 
had  been  stormed  by  this  relentless  pedantry !  They 
flew  away  like  birds  and  butterflies,  hid  in  remote  pas- 
toral places,  and  eluded  the  ears  of  music-lovers  for 
centuries. 

The  Goddess  of  Song,  deserting  these  vagrants  and 
fugitives,  had  bent  her  neck  to  the  yoke  of  Rules  and 
Laws.  Kunst  (Art)  at  an  early  date  replaced  in- 
spiration, and  though  the  result  of  the  care  and  toil 
of  these  medisval  pedants  is  the" finest  Art  Song  in  the 
world,  they  themselves,  with  rare  exceptions,  seem  un- 
sympathetic and  even  exasperating. 

The  new  order  of  Song  flourished  more  or  less  suc- 
cessfully for  four  centuries, — one  branch  remaining 
active  until  1839!  Various  men  won  eminence  in  its 
exercise, — notably  Roscnblut,  Heinrich  von  Mugeln, 
Adam  Puschmann  (Hans  Sachs's  pupil),  Hadlaub, 
Behaim,  Brandt,  Folz,  Muscatbliit,  Fischart  and  Till 
Eulcnspiegcl.  But  only  one  made  for  himself  a  name 
that  was  quite  immortal :  Hans  Sachs,  of  Nuremberg. 


160  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

He  was  a  cobbler,  and  he  wrote  over  6,050  works — 
4,275  of  which  were  Meisterlieder! 

Without  such  vitalising  principles  as  came  from  the 
work  of  men  like  Hans  Sachs,  the  Meistersinger  could 
have  lived  and  laboured  but  a  few  decades.  The  art 
which  is  made  to  endure  must  be  a  living  art,  and  the 
Meistersang  was  in  itself  but  little  better  than  a 
skeleton, — the  skeleton  of  the  dead  Folk-Song.  But 
Genius,  the  one  great  creative  factor  in  all  forms  of 
art,  made  a  brain  for  the  skeleton,  and  then  a  heart, 
and  finally  a  soul ;  and  suddenly  the  skeleton  was  a 
skeleton  no  longer,  but  a  living,  breathing  being  of 
flesh  and  blood, — the  Art  Song.  And  this  thing  was 
done  not  by  the  pedantry  nor  the  studied  rules  of  the 
Mastersingers,  but  by  the  few  rare  but  signal  geniuses 
among  them ;  of  whom  Hans  Sachs,  the  cobbler,  was 
the  greatest. 

Like  all  important  movements,  the  growth  and  de- 
velopment of  the  Mastersingers'  Art  Song  was  very 
slow.  The  great  Mastersingers'  Contests  began  in  in- 
formal meetings  among  musical  burghers  on  dull  win- 
ter evenings, — meetings  during  which  songs  were  sung, 
poems  recited,  stories  told,  and  rules  for  singing  and 
composition  discussed.  As  the  rules  multiplied  and 
the  burghers  gained  proficiency  and  assurance  in  the 
new  craft,  the  cast-iron  Guilds  formed  themselves,  and 
the  Meistergesang  was  established. 

This  was  all  during  the  fourteenth  century.     By  the 


A  MAKER  OF  SONGS  AND  SHOES     161 

fifteenth  the  thing  was  done,  and  at  Cohnar,  Frank- 
fort, Mainz,  Prague,  Breslau,  Strassburg,  Augsburg, 
Ulm,  Regensburg,  Nuremberg,  and  indeed  every  city 
of  standing  or  size,  the  new  schools  of  composition  had 
been  instituted. 

Nuremberg  was  the  heart  and  shrine  of  the  Master- 
song,  and  is  to-day  acknowledged  as  one  of  the  musical 
temples  of  the  past.  Pilgrims  go  there,  visit  St. 
Katherine's,  where  the  formal  contests  of  the  Master- 
singers  were  held,  see  the  quaintly  decorated  cabinet 
that  hangs  upon  the  church  wall  and  bears  the  por- 
traits of  four  masters  as  well  as  a  stiff  religious  paint- 
ing, and  indulge  in  dreams  of  the  dead  days  as  they 
pass  through  the  streets  once  trod  by  Albrecht  Diirer 
and  Hans  Sachs. 

The  members  of  the  Guild  there,  though  unimagina- 
tive and  far  from  inspired,  were  men  of  intelligence  and 
character.  Most  of  them  were  tradesmen  or  petty 
burghers,  but  they  gave  at  least  half  their  busy  lives 
to  the  art  which  they  were  pleased  to  call  theirs  ex- 
clusively. It  seems  to  have  given  them  pleasure  to 
elaborate  upon  their  own  restrictions,  if  so  paradoxical 
a  phrase  be  permissible !  Their  rules,  narrow  and 
strict  as  they  were,  were  always  being  made  more  con- 
tracted and  more  rigid,  and  their  artistic  work  was 
done  in  a  cut-and-dried  fashion  which  one  writer  de- 
scribes as  "grotesque  pedantry." 

Their  care  in  being  correct  and  scholarly  in  all  that 


16S  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

they  did  resulted  in  innumerable  humorous  effects. 
For  one  thing,  they  were  always  most  conscientiously 
accurate  in  their  Scriptural  excerpts  and  quotations, 
and  very  careful  to  make  proper  acknowledgment  of 
the  sources  of  the  texts.  So,  when  a  verse  from  the 
Bible  was  set  to  music,  the  name  of  the  book  and  the 
number  of  the  chapter  were  included  in  the  song !  For 
example,  when  they  set  the  twenty-ninth  chapter  of 
Genesis  to  music,  the  composition  began  in  this  style: 
"Genesis  am  neun  und  Zwanzigsten  nus  bericht  wie 
Jacob  floh  vor  sein  Bruder  Esau,"  etc.,  etc., — all  care- 
fully set  to  music ! 

Wagner's  comic  enumeration  of  the  ridiculously 
named  "Tones"  and  "Modes,"  made  use  of  by  the 
Mastersingers  in  composing  their  songs  ("Die  Meister- 
singer,"  Act  I.),  is  really  much  less  exaggerated  than 
most  persons  guess.  For  the  dryest  possible  combina- 
tions of  notes,  this,  the  most  unimaginative  body  of 
musicians  conceivable,  had  the  following  amazing 
names : ,  The  Blue  Tone,  the  Red  Tone,  the  Rosemary 
Tone,  the  Yellow  Lily  Tone,  the  Nightingale  Tone, 
the  Maidenly  Reserve  Tone,  the  Blue  Corn-flower  Tone, 
the  Ape  Tone,  the  Pointed  Arrow  Tone,  the  Glutton 
Tone,  the  Wall-flower  Tone,  the  Weaver's  Song,  and 
the  Melody  of  Roses ! 

There  were  also  the  Long  Tones  and  Short  Tones, 
and  many  more  standard  melodies, — all  of  equal  dul- 
ness  and  dreariness  to  our  ears. 


A  MAKER  OF  SONGS  AND  SHOES     163 

In  the  days  of  the  Minnesinger,  the  word  "Tone" 
applied  only  to  the  rhythm  or  metre,  the  air  being 
called  the  melody.  But  the  jNIeistersinger  used  Tone 
to  describe  the  tunes  invented  by  the  more  creative 
brains  among  them,  and  accepted  them  not  only  as 
models  of  excellence,  but  as  pegs  on  which  striving 
singers  might  hang  any  newly-chosen  words. 

Any  one  of  the  Standard  Tunes,— that  named  for 
the  Ape,  the  Glutton,  the  Corn-flower,  or  any  other, — 
might  be  taken  by  a  lyrical  aspirant,  and  twisted  to 
fit  the  Biblical  verse  upon  which  he  had  decided.  It 
may  be  mentioned  here,  by  the  bye,  that  all  the  words 
of  the  Mastersingers'  songs  were  obliged  to  be  of  a 
Scriptural  order.  No  secular  subjects  were  admitted 
to  the  ultra-purified  atmosphere  of  the  Meisterge- 
sang! 

The  question  of  originality  was  treated  in  a  re- 
markably odd  manner  by  the  Guild.  The  freedom 
with  which  the  Standard  Tones  might  be  used, — with 
such  metrical  alterations  as  the  merest  beginner  in 
music  might  effect,  would  seem  to  argue  that  individual 
creation  was  not  ardently  encouraged, — rather,  in- 
deed, that  a  premium  was  set  upon  stagnation,  and 
all  incentive  toward  anything  save  a  mere  mechanical 
following  of  others'  ideas  was  totally  lacking.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  conditions  which  prevailed  were  of 
quite  a  contrary  order. 

While  the  habit  of  musical  thought  was  encouraged 


164  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

by  the  wide  and  almost  promiscuous  use  of  the  model 
Tones,  no  man  who  had  not  himself  created  one  or 
more  Tones  could  be  admitted  to  the  iimer  sanctuary 
of  the  Guild.  He  might  be  a  Singer — a  title  of 
honour,  and  one  much  coveted, — but  he  could  not  be 
a  Mastersinger.      Says  Wagner's  "David": 

"The  poet  who,  from  his  own  brain, 
To  words  and  rhymes  discovered  by  himself. 
Can,  for  these  Tones,  create  a  new  melody, — 
He  as  a  Mastersinger  is  recognised!" 

It  is  natural  that  the  only  conception  which  the 
great  public  has  of  the  character  and  personality  of 
Hans  Sachs  is  the  conception  oiFered  by  Richard 
Wagner.  The  accuracy  of  this  conception  is  possible, 
but  not  certain.  The  Sachs  of  Wagner  is  that  rare 
being,  a  philosopher,  an  artist,  a  poet,  a  commoner, 
and  a  genial  Romanticist.  He  alternately  sings, 
jests,  philosophises,  and  makes  shoes.  Only  one  thing 
we  never  see  him  do  and  that  is  write.  And  we  know 
that  the  real  Hans  Sachs  left  behind  him  musical  and 
literary  compositions  to  the  tune  of  6,050 — and  more ! 
But  a  Sachs  who,  in  addition  to  the  charming  com- 
bination of  attributes  given  him  by  Wagner,  pos- 
sessed the  qualifications  of  a  profound  scholar  and 
man  of  letters,  would  be  a  trifle  too  suggestive  of  blue 
roses  and  moons  attained ! 

In  any  case,  if  the  real  Sachs  who  cobbled  shoes  in 


A  MAKER  OF  SONGS  AND  SHOES     165 

Nuremberg  in  the  fifteenth  century,  and  wrote  with  a 
prolific  ease  paralj-^sing  even  to  the  hurrying  modern 
world,  was  a  less  engaging  person  than  he  who  sings 
"Evchen,  Evchen,  Schlimmes  Weib !"  to  our  unquali- 
fied joy, — he  must  nevertheless  have  been  a  delightful 
being. 

Though  he  affiliated  himself  closely  and  irrevocably 
with  the  iMastersingers'  art,  he  nevertliclcss  found 
wa3^s  of  infusing  an  enormous  amount  of  individuality 
and  spontaneity'  into  what  he  did.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  confessed  that  he  considered  that  in  his  Mas- 
ter Songs  was  the  worst  work  of  his  career.  But  this 
is  decidedly  open  to  question.  Neither  bolts  nor  bars 
nor  even  Guild  restrictions  can  shackle  genuine  inspira- 
tion. Whatever  Sachs  touched  became  either  music  or 
poetry.  It  was  a  fine  fancy  of  Wagner's  that  made 
him  give  a  musical  rhythm  even  to  the  Cobbler's  ham- 
mer. For  to  such  a  fresh  and  vigorous  genius  as  that 
of  Sachs,  even  the  cobbling  of  shoes  must  have  par- 
taken of  the  spirit  of  his  art.  LongfelloAv,  in  his  oft- 
quoted  poem  on  "Nuremberg,"  touched  on  this  in- 
evitable mingling  of  work  and  song,  saying: 

"As  the  weaver  plied  his  shuttles,  wove  he  too  the  mystic  rhyme, 
And  the  smith  his  iron  measures  hammered  to  the  anvil's  chime, 

"Thanking  God  whose  boundless  wisdom  makes  the  flowers  of 
poesy  bloom 
In  the  forge's  dust  and  cinders,  in  the  tissues  of  the  loom." 


166  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

And  Longfellow  paid  his  special  tribute  to  our 
shoemaker,  also : 

".    .     .     Here  Hans  Sachs,  the  cobbler-poet,  laureate  of  the 
gentle  craft, 
Wisest  of  the  Twelve  Wise  Masters,  in  huge  folios  sang  and 
laughed. 

*  *  *  *  *  :|[  * 

"Vanished  is  the  ancient  splendour,  and  before  my  dreamy  eye 
Wave  these  mingled  shapes  and  figures  like  a  faded  tapestry. 

"Not  thy  Councils,  not  thy  Kaisers,  win  for  thee  the  world's 

regard, 
But  thy  painter,  Albrecht  Diirer,  and  Hans  Sachs,  thy  cobbler- 
bard." 

Whittier,  the  genial  and  the  gentle,  recognised  a 
kindred  spirit  in  the  great  Maker  of  Shoes,  as  every 
one  knows  who  is  familiar  with  his  poem  in  which 
appear  the  lines : 

"Thy  songs,  Hans  Sachs,  are  living  yet. 
In  honest,  hearty  German     .     .     ."  etc. 

From  first  to  last  Sachs  worked  for  the  universal 
good.  Art  was  to  him  no  personal  gratification, — 
hardly  a  personal  indulgence  or  means  of  expression. 
It  was  the  method  by  which  he,  among  a  few  chosen 
ones,  was  enabled  to  uplift  the  many  in  the  service  and 
to  the  glory  of  art. 

Hans  Sachs  it  was  who  gave  to  the  Guild  the  rare 
coin  bearing  the  face  of  King  David,  and  thus  founded 
that  form  of  the  mastersong  known  as  the  ^^David- 


A  MAKER  OF  SONGS  AND  SHOES     167 

gesange.^^  The  coin  hung,  with  others,  upon  a  heavy 
gold  chain  Avhich  was  placed  about  the  neck  of  winners 
in  certain  very  exclusive  and  superior  musical  contests. 
And  the  favoured  wearer  was  called  the  "David-win- 
ner." 

It  was  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  David-winner.  Men 
worked  half  a  lifetime  to  attain  the  honour,  though  it 
would  seem  that  the  responsibilities  of  the  David-win- 
ner exceeded  his  perquisities.  A  man  thus  distin- 
guished was  an  acknowledged  master  and  teacher,  and 
was  under  moral  and  intellectual  obligations  to  instruct 
others  in  his  art.  But  it  was  a  matter  not  only  of 
honour,  but  of  inflexible  rule  that  he  should  accept  no 
payment  for  the  lessons  which  he  gave. 

The  disinterestedness  of  the  Mastersingers  is  clearly 
manifest  in  this.  It  was  a  matter  both  of  duty  and 
of  privilege  to  aid  others,  but  to  accept  remuneration 
would  be  to  cheapen  and  degrade  the  song  they  loved 
to  a  commercial  basis.  And  this  would  have  been  ab- 
horrent to  them.  The  lesson  is  one  worth  noting  in 
this  day  of  bartering,  when  few  geniuses  are  above  a 
little  auctioneering,  and  every  inspiration  has  its  mar- 
ket value. 

The  David-winners  were  unwilling  that  their  work 
should  receive  even  such  emolument  as  might  cover  the 
actual  loss  which  their  curtailed  business  might  incur. 
Wo  must  remember  that,  although  for  the  most  part 
most   prosaically  prosperous,  the  Meistersingcr  were 


168  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

almost  all  men  to  whom  every  division  of  time  stood  for 
some  portion  of  labour  accomplished,  and  a  corre- 
sponding sum  of  money  gained.  Therefore,  practi- 
cally speaking,  the  David-winner,  in  giving  his 
instruction  gratis,  gave,  in  addition,  a  fair  amount  of 
money  out  of  his  own  pocket. 

Thus  did  the  Meistersinger  of  Nuremberg  love  that 
Art  of  Song  of  which  they  had  appointed  themselves 
the  champions.  And  they  did  their  work  well.  They 
sowed  many  fertile  seeds,  and  cared  for  them  duly,  and 
from  that  planting  the  musical  world  of  to-day  reaps 
rich  harvests. 

Of  course  the  possibilities  in  their  own  Kunst  were 
neither  perceived  nor  yet  dreamed  of  by  them.  But 
the  possibilities  were  there,  albeit  somewhat  proto- 
plasmic. They  were  waiting  only  for  the  easier, 
lighter  and  freer  touch,  to  grow  into  musical  creations 
of  genuine  and  intrinsic  value.  In  Heinrich  von 
Miigeln's  melody — known  among  the  Masters  as  the 
Long  Tone, — we  find  the  germ  of  Wagner's  "Meister- 
singer" !  The  broad  and  simple  phrase  which  is  one  of 
the  central  themes  of  the  great  Overture  and  March 
can  easily  be  recognised,  in  embryo,  in  the  following: 


i 


,--rTT      I      !    ^j~-p     f"     r     f^ 


W 

It  might  be  well  just  here  to  give  a  brief  account  of 
the  way   in  which   the   Mastersingers'   Contests  were 


A  MAKER  OF  SONGS  AND  SHOES     169 

conducted.  Placards  were  first  posted  about  Nurem- 
berg, inviting  citizens  to  come  to  St.  Katherine's  at  a 
certain  time.  The  gathering  was  alwa^'s  a  large  one, 
for  the  interest  in  the  Kunst  of  the  JNIasters  was  uni- 
versal through  city  and  suburbs.  The  proceedings  be- 
gan with  the  "Freisingen,'''  or  "Free  Singing,"  which 
was  open  to  any  one  who  imagined  that  he  had  a  lyrical 
or  even  merely  a  vocal  gift.  For  a  certain  length  of 
time  the  Masters  and  the  citizens  listened  to  these  Free 
Singers,  upon  whose  performances  no  judgment  was 
pronounced.      Then  the  contest  began. 

Four  Merker  (Markers)  were  stationed  behind  a 
screen  or  curtain  near  the  altar.  Each  had  a  slate  and 
piece  of  chalk,  and  each  had  a  special  responsibility, 
and  a  special  duty  to  discharge.  One  Marker  was 
supposed  to  take  note  of  mistakes  in  rhetoric,  another 
of  errors  in  rhyme  and  metre,  a  third  of  incorrect 
forms  of  melodic  construction,  while  the  fourth, — 
provided  with  a  large  Bible, — paid  careful  heed  as  to 
whether  or  no  the  singer  kept  strictly  to  the  sacred 
text. 

Then  the  Singer  who  wished  to  become  a  Master- 
singer,  or  the  Mastersinger  who  wished  to  become  a 
David-winner,  began  his  song. 

The  decision  of  the  Judges  was  entirely  controlled 
by  the  records  of  the  Markers,  who  made  a  chalk- 
mark  for  every  fault  detected.  The  Markers  were 
zealous   and   the   Judges   conscientious,   and   he   who 


170  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

passed  through  the  ordeal  triumphantly — without  be- 
ing declared  "outsung !" — must  have  been  gifted  not 
only  with  an  excellent  education,  but  a  set  of  re- 
markably steady  nerves. 

Such  were  the  ways  and  customs  of  the  Meister- 
singer  of  Nuremberg. 

Hans  Sachs  was  born  in  Nuremberg  on  Novem- 
ber 5th,  1494.  Authorities  differ  as  to  his  antecedents, 
some  persons  declaring  his  father  to  have  been  a  shoe- 
maker, others  a  tailor.  In  any  case  he  was  low-bom, 
though  probably  of  intensely  respectable,  even  pros- 
perous, parentage.  As  a  child  he  went  to  the  Latin 
School  in  Nuremberg,  and  made  good  use  of  his  time. 
When  he  was  fifteen  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  shoe- 
maker (some  histories  say  to  his  father),  and  worked 
as  hard  at  cobbling  as  he  had  at  Latin. 

After  two  years  of  painstaking  labour  and  con- 
scientious application,  he  found  himself  a  journey- 
man instead  of  an  apprentice,  with  all  the  unwonted 
freedom  of  promotion.  He  straightway  set  out  upon 
his  " Wander jahre  (Wandering  Year)."  He  was 
then  seventeen,  and  keenly  alert  to  new  impressions. 
He  wanted  to  see  everything  and  do  everything:  the 
world  as  viewed  from  the  sleepy  streets  of  Nuremberg 
seemed  too  small  for  his  Wanderjahre!  No  youth 
ever  started  forth  upon  his  travels  with  a  more  vital 
interest  in  life  and  things  than  did  Hans  Sachs. 

He  wandered  all  over  Germany,  learning  much,  en- 


A  MAKER  OF  SONGS  AND  SHOES     171 

joying  everything,  and  living  with  every  fibre  and 
every  cell  of  his  healthy  body  and  brain. 

He  went  to  Ratisbon  and  Passau,  Liibeck  and 
Osnabruck,  Salzburg,  Leipzig,  and  Munich.  And 
wherever  he  went  he  made  careful  mental  notes  of  his 
new  impressions,  and  whenever  he  could  he  picked  up 
stray  bits  of  information,  together  with  the  usual  vast 
quantities  of  experience. 

He  began  to  study  singing  as  he  went  along.  The 
towns  which  he  visited  all  had  their  Guilds  and  Song 
Schools,  and,  through  this  varied  mode  of  education, 
he  acquired  a  wonderful  versatility  of  style  and 
breadth  of  musical  experience. 

In  Munich,  when  he  was  nineteen,  he  finished  his 
training  in  the  "Charming  Art,"  as  it  was  called.  And 
in  1514,  when  he  was  twenty,  he  began  to  write  songs 
of  his  own.  In  1515  (possibly  1516)  he  returned 
to  Nuremberg, — barely  twenty-one,  but  a  finished 
master  of  music  and  poetry.  And  in  Nuremberg  he 
remained  thereafter  until  his  death. 

They  made  him  a  Mastersinger,  of  course,  and  he 
worked  untiringly  for  his  Guild,  as  we  have  seen. 
When  he  was  twenty-five  he  married.  Details  con- 
cerning the  maiden's  name  and  individuality  are  some- 
what obscure,  but  we  know  that  he  was  very  happy  with 
her,  and  had  several  children,  and  that  when  she  died, 
after  many  years  of  mutual  contentment,  he  mourned 
her  loss  sincerely.    Nevertheless,  his  grief  did  not  pre- 


172  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

vent  him  from  marrying  again.  Sachs  seems  to  have 
been  the  ideal  and  typical  German  Hausvater,  and  like 
the  great  Bach,  possessed  the  need  and  the  genius  for 
founding  and  fostering  the  Home.  This  second  mar- 
riage was  made  when  he  was  nearly  seventy,  but  he 
was  a  man  of  eternal  youth,  and  never  outlived  his 
spring-dreams  nor  his  sense  of  humour.  It  was  a 
year  after  this  marriage  that  he  wrote  his  delightful 
^^Fastnachtspiel  (Festival-Night-Song)"  and,  with 
his  own  delicious  art,  incorporated  therein  the  famous 
old  Ma}^  Song  of  the  thirteenth  century. 

Although  this  roundelay,  or  folk-song,  was  not  his, 
he  contrived  to  dress  it  in  such  a  new  and  charming 
garb  that  it  has  become  closely  and  justly  associated 
with  him. 

The  fresh  and  graceful  qualities  of  the  original 
verses  are  too  delicate  to  be  transplanted;  the  follow- 
ing is  a  very  liberal  translation : 

"The  May-time,  the  May-time! 

It  fills  the  world  with  flowers! 
God  seeth  what  I  yearn  for, 

With  all  my  quickening  powers. 

"For  Love  is  all  my  longing, 
A  maid  as  fair  as  May; 
To  bring  her  to  my  hearthstone. 
And  make  the  Springtide  stay. 

"Of  wooing  sings  the  nightingale, 
And  joy  that  here  begins: 
Ah,  must  I  be  the  only  one 
That  woos, — but  never  wins?" 


A  MAKER  OF  SONGS  AND  SHOES     173 

Sachs  did  not  only  write  songs.  He  wrote  dramas, 
narratives,  fables,  allegories,  dialogues,  hymns, — 
ever}'  form  of  literary  and  lyrical  composition  then  in 
vogue,  and  many  which  he  invented  himself.  He  wrote 
two  hundred  and  eight  dramas  in  all,  and  one  thousand 
five  hundred  and  fifty-eight  narratives.  His  most 
famous  tragedies  were  ^^Lucretia"  (1527),  "Virginia" 
(1530),  "Melusine,"  "Klytemnestra,"  and  "Julian  der 
Ahtriinnige  (Julian  the  Apostate)."  His  greatest 
comedy  was  "Die  Unglcichen  Kinder  Eva  (The  Un- 
like Children  of  Eve)."  There  was,  also,  a  wonderful 
Carnival  play,  and  the  famous  "Hilrnen  Segfried 
(The  Horned  Siegfried)"  (1557). 

He  had  the  inconsistency  of  all  great  souls.  Dur- 
ing the  Reformation  he  was  one  of  Luther's  most 
violent  partisans,  and,  in  1523,  wrote  for  him  the 
beautiful  "Wittenbergisch  Nachtigall  (The  Nightin- 
gale of  Wittenberg)."  The  song  was  widely  known 
and  deeply  admired,  and  proved  a  genuine  help  to 
Luther  in  gaining  for  him  public  sympathy. 

After  having  identified  himself  thus  definitely  with 
the  sweeping  religious  movement  of  the  period,  Sachs 
promptly  proceeded  to  write  four  brilliant  prose  dia- 
logues, "Counselling"  (says  the  chronicle)  "modera- 
tion in  the  religious  life !" 

According  to  his  own  statement,  the  Cobbler  com- 
pleted, between  the  years  ISl-l  and  1567,  six  thousand 
and  forty-eight  works.     This  vast  list  was  enormously 


174  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

increased  before  his  death,  nine  years  later.  He  made 
use  of  all  things  in  his  compositions — folk-poems, 
legends,  history,  the  Bible,  every-day  life. 

His  was  a  utilitarian  as  well  as  an  inspirational 
genius.  No  trivial  memory  nor  passing  fancy  came 
to  him  but  he  found  a  value  in  it,  and  a  power  for 
usefulness.  No  trouble  touched  him  but  he  learned 
from  it;  no  joy  but  he  shared  it  with  the  world.  No 
petty  annoyance  came  to  interrupt  his  daily  cobbling 
but  he  made  of  it  a  jest  for  us  to  laugh  at  to-day. 
No  dream  visited  his  sleep-sealed  eyes  but  found  its 
way  into  a  song. 

On  January  19th,  1576,  Hans  Sachs,  Mastersinger 
and  Cobbler,  the  illustrious  Maker  of  Songs  and  of 
Shoes,  died,  aged  eighty-two.  His  life  had  been  long 
and  incredibly  busy,  and  with  the  exception  of  four 
years  when  he  was  a  very  young  man  it  had  been  spent 
in  Nuremberg.  How  had  he  learned  the  Universal 
Speech,  shut  in  among  narrow  streets  and  narrow 
minds,  unyielding  walls  and  unyielding  customs.?  How 
did  he  find  there  the  secret  of  undying  youth.'*  Per- 
haps the  best  answer  is  found  on  the  lips  of  Wagner's 
Sachs : 

"My  friend,"  says  the  Cobbler,  speaking  out  of  his 
kindly  tolerance  and  wisdom  to  the  hot-blooded  boy 
knight,  "my  friend  .  .  .  the  real  poems  of  the 
world  are  only  dreams  come  true." 


MAITRE  GUEDRON,  A 
TEACHER  OF  KINGS 


A   ROMANCE  BY 
MAITRE  GUEDRON 


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spend  all     your    brief    youth  in        lov 


mg. 


IX 

MAITRE   GUEDRON,    A 
TEACHER   OF  KINGS 


PARRY,  in  the  "Oxford  History  of  Music,"  says : 

"The  French  composers,  if  left  to  themselves,  do 
not  seem  likely  to  have  effected  much  in  the  direction 
of  passionate  expression.  Their  natural  instinct,  like 
that  of  their  public,  seems  in  the  direction  of  gaiety 
and  light-heartedness,  impelling  them  to  treat  even 
pathetic  situations  with  a  sort  of  childish  superficiality, 
— as  occasions  for  making  something  neat  and  pretty, 
rather  than  emotional  and  interesting.  .  .  .  The 
songs  are  dainty  morsels  in  themselves,  sometimes  ex- 
pressing very  delicately  the  sentiments  of  undramatic 
words,"  etc. 

While  Germany  was  struggling  slowly  toward  the 
goal  of  the  finislicd  Art-Song,  and  was  floundering  in 
the  mazes  of  pedantry  by  the  way,  France  was  perfect- 
ing that  exquisite  and  distinctive  thing  known  through 
all  centuries  as  French  Song. 

What  the  Troubadours,  Trouveres  and  Menetriers 
had  sketched  in  lightest  and  most  shadowy  lines  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  century  Frenchmen  filled  in 


178  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

with  such  rose-hued  decoration,  amplification  and  or- 
namentation as  we  might  be  tempted  to  term  evanes- 
cent and  ephemeral,  had  the  whole  not  outlasted  the 
centuries.  In  the  early  part  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
songs  for  three,  four,  and  five  voices  were  popular. 
But  in  the  reign  of  Henri  IV.  the  monodic,  or  single- 
voice,  songs  came  into  fashion  once  more. 

With  the  tinkle  of  lutes  and  soft  choruses  of  court 
singers,  the  French  chanson,  far  from  being  forgot- 
ten, was  endowed  with  new  life,  and,  enshrined  on  a 
flower-decked  altar,  remained  the  pastime  and  the  joy 
of  kings. 

Naturally  there  were  very  few  exponents  of  this 
fragile  art  M^ho  had  the  keen  brain,  poetic  instinct, 
light  touch,  and  musical  cultivation  necessary  to  pro- 
duce songs  of  popular  charm  and  artistic  finish. 

Among  these  few  were  Boesset,  Mauduit,  Bataille, 
and, — greatest  of  all, — Pierre  Guedron,  the  teacher 
of  two  kings,  and  the  master  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury chanson  and  romance  in  France. 

He  was  born  in  Paris  in  1565,  and  from  the  time 
that  he  was  old  enough  to  have  any  interests  or  any 
dreams,  he  devoted  his  life  to  the  making  of  music. 
We  know  little  of  his  private  and  personal  existence 
beyond  the  fact  that  he  married,  and  had  one  daughter 
and  several  sons, — none  of  whom  appear  to  have  par- 
ticularly distinguished  themselves.  But  of  his  work 
we  have  ample  record, — not  only  in  the  chronicles  and 


MAITRE  GUEDRON  179 

anthologies  and  histories,  but  in  his  unmistakable  and 
unique  influence  upon  all  subsequent  French  song. 

At  the  time  when  he  began  to  compose,  Paris  was 
given  over  to  all  manner  of  extravagant  gaieties. 
The  religious  and  political  disturbances  during  the 
reign  of  the  weak-minded  Charles  IX.  had  left  in 
France  a  thirst  for  the  perquisities  of  peace, — for  the 
wildest  and  most  extreme  forms  of  merrymaking. 
Masques  and  Ballets  formed  the  chief  diversions  of  the 
Court, — diversions  into  which  every  soul  poured  his 
or  her  energies  with  a  feverish  and  exaggerated  ex- 
citement approaching  Paganism.  Indeed  they  had 
an  old  Bacchic  hymn, — beginning  "Deus,  qui  bonum 
vinum  creati," — which  was  sung  at  many  festivals, 
and  effectually  proved  the  tendencies  as  well  as  the 
standpoint  of  the  day.  The  following  is  a  literal 
translation  of  this  most  extraordinary  lyric  that  ever 
found  favour  in  a  civilised  Christian  Court. 

"God!  You  who  have  created  the  good  wine,  and  who  have 
permitted  that  liquor  to  affect  so  many  heads  so  ill,  preserve 
for  us,  if  you  please,  enough  of  sense,  at  least,  to  enable  us 
to  find  our  way  to  bed!" 

The  popular  Ballet  or  Masque  had  been  introduced 
into  Paris  by  a  protege  of  Catharine  de  Medici, 
a  young  Italian  violinist  who  had  come  to  Court  in 
1577,  had  pleased  her  by  his  playing,  and  had  been 
installed  as  her  Intendant  of  Music.  He  called  him- 
self Balthazar  de  Beaujoyeuex,    which    had    no    re- 


180  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

semblance  to  his  real  name,  and  was  the  composer  of 
"Circe,"  the  first  Ballet  ever  produced  in  France.  It 
was  written  and  performed  in  honour  of  the  marriage 
of  the  Due  de  Joyeuse  and  Mile,  de  Vaudemond,  1582, 
and  was  the  beginning  of  a  new  musical  craze. 

Pierre  Guedron  grew  up  into  an  atmosphere  of  light 
dramatic  music,  and  lost  no  time  in  identifying  himself 
closely  with  the  popular  taste.  Indeed,  it  was  as  a 
ballet-composer  that  his  fame  was  first  acquired, 
although  he  always  loved  song-writing  best,  and 
usually  contrived  to  incorporate  in  his  Masque  music 
one  or  more  of  the  charming  Romances  upon  which 
he  had  spent  his  dearest  dreams  and  eagerest  industry. 

Henri  de  Navarre,  the  Bearnnais  beloved  of  Hugue- 
nots and  women,- — always  excepting  Madame  Cathe- 
rine, the  Regent,- — came  duly  to  the  Throne  of  France, 
and,  as  behooved  him,  wedded  Marie  de  Medici.  His 
Court  Composer  at  that  time  was  Claude  Lejeune, 
who,  dying  in  a  timely  hour  the  year  after  the  royal 
marriage,  left  a  most  honourable  position  vacant. 
This  position  Henri  called  upon  Pierre  Guedron  to  fill. 
So,  at  the  age  of  thirty-six  he  became  Court  Composer 
to  the  King  of  France.  We  gather  from  various 
records  of  the  day  that  he  was  Valet  de  Chambre  to 
Henri,  and  teacher  of  music  to  the  whole  royal  family, 
and  to  many  musical  enthusiasts  in  the  Court.  The 
King  had  for  him  a  genuine  affection,  and  Guedron 
repaid  the  royal   favours  which  he  received  by  his 


MAITRE  GUEDRON  181 

painstaking  instruction  of  the  King  and  the  little 
Dauphin  Louis  in  the  gentle  art  of  song-making. 

Henri's  love  for  music  was  a  somewhat  artificially 
cultivated  product,  the  result  of  his  first  wife's  ardent 
passion  for  sweet  sounds.  Marguerite  de  Valois  pre- 
ferred people  to  sing  rather  than  to  talk,  if  possible, 
and  her  influence  did  much  toward  making  music  fash- 
ionable in  France.  Henri  himself  started  a  precedent 
of  impromptu  or  extemporaneous  verse-making  which 
resulted  in  a  rh^^ming,  declaiming,  warbling,  and  more 
than  two-thirds  ridiculous  Court.  Henri  himself, 
whether  making  love  or  making  songs,  was  always 
debonnair,  graceful  and  assured ;  but  his  would-be  fol- 
lowers were  not  ahvays  successful  in  imitating  his 
somewhat  casual  methods. 

Of  course  he  composed  songs  for  the  Princesse  de 
Conde  and  many  other  great  ladies,  but  his  first  im- 
promtu  stanza  was  made  in  honour  of  the  pretty 
Duchesse  de  Sulli,  with  whom  he  was  violently  in  love 
at  the  time, — the  same  Duchesse,  by  the  b3^e,  with 
whom  Dumas  has  made  us  feel  so  intimate,  in  the  pages 
of  his  "Heine  Margot." 

Henri  was  sitting  at  supper  at  the  table  of  the 
Duchesse,  and  when  he  rose  to  drink  to  the  hostess,  won 
a  round  of  laughter  by  declaring : 

"I  would  drink  to  thee,  Sulli, 
But    cannot,    I    confess! 
For  let  me  state  to  thee, 
Adorable  Duchesse, 


182  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

To  drink  to  thy  sweet  charms  that  so  abound. 
One  should  but  do  so,  bowing  to  the  ground!" 

It  was  Henri  who  wrote  the  celebrated  song  "Char- 
mante  Gabrielle,"  and  sent  it  to  the  beautiful  Ga- 
brielle  d'Estree  one  day  when  he  was  planning  a 
campaign  against  Spain,  and  a  consequent  absence 
from  her: 

"Ah,  charming  Gabrielle, 

Thy  darts  most  piercing  are; 
Alas, — those  wounds  to  sell 

For  thrusts  of  public  war! 
What  pangs  to  part  from  thee, 

Mere  glory  so  to  gain! 
Lifeless  I  well  might  be. 

As  free  from  love's  dear  pain!" 

Paris  taste  at  the  time  when  Guedron  became 
Royal  Composer,  was  practically  toward  Vaudeville. 
People  wished  nothing  serious,  nothing  sad;  even  a 
tragedy  must  be  dressed  up  in  some  masquerade  form 
which  would  amuse,  instead  of  impressing  them.  We 
find  several  records  of  "Ballets  tragiques"  produced  at 
this  period! 

These  Ballets,  let  it  here  be  explained,  were  not  at 
all  like  our  ballets  of  to-day.  They  were  spectacular, 
dramatic  performances,  with  dances  and  instrumental 
music  of  a  high  class.  Sometimes  they  were  pan- 
tomimic, but  oftener  were  sprinkled  with  songs  and 
choruses.     The  whole  was  a  sort  of  musical  potpourri, 


MAITRE  GUEDRON  183 

a  cross  between  Opera  Comique  and  Vaudeville. 
Adam  de  la  Halle  anticipated  the  Ballet,  though  in  its 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  century  form  it  was,  thanks 
to  Balthazar,  mainly  Italian. 

In  1610,  Henri  IV.  having  been  killed  by  the 
Catholic  fanatic  Ravaillac,  the  boy  Louis  XIII.,  with 
his  mother.  Queen  Marie,  as  Regent,  reigned  in  France. 
Maitre  Guedron  was  retained  as  Court  Composer,  and 
continued  to  teach  the  art  of  music  to  the  young  King. 

Louis  XIII.  showed  a  rare  taste  and  ability  in 
music  from  his  childhood.  He  copied  his  master's 
style,  of  course,  and  his  melodies  are  scarcely  more 
than  creditable  sketches  of  the  models  which  he  had 
before  him  constantly.  Nevertheless,  his  love  for  his 
art  was  genuine,  and  Maitre  Guedron  was  not  only 
fond  but  proud  of  his  royal  pupil. 

In  1614  the  King  was  declared  of  age,  and  in  1615 
he  married  Anne  of  Austria. 

This  wedding  was  an  opportunity  for  Maitre  Gue- 
dron to  pour  forth  such  wealth  of  music  as  he  could, 
and  he  made  good  use  of  it.  He  acquitted  himself 
brilliantly,  composing  songs  which  surpassed  any  of 
his  previous  achievements.  He  wrapped  them  up  in  a 
Ballet  of  course  to  please  tlie  popular  taste, — a  Ballet 
which  was  called  "Le  Ballet  de  Madame,"  as  a  tribute 
to  Anne. 

One  of  the  songs  reproached  the  Queen  and  bride 
for  her  tardy  appearance,  and  ran  as  follows : 


184 


MAKERS  OF  SONG 


^ 


22= 


=5=;  IS,: 


--i^2z 


Forsweet  Anne  we're  longing;  Tru   -  ly    she    Is 


f 


late! 


T^ — r- 


--if=^ 


^^ 


Ah!    our  hopes  She's  wronging,  Thus   to      let    us     waitl 

Another  song  introduced  in  the  same  Ballet  began 
with  these  particvilarly  naive  verses : 

"One  day  the  Shepherdess  Silvia 
Sang:  'Oh,  prithee  love  thou  me!' 

To  her  love  and  life  sang  she: 
'Twas  a  shepherd  gay! — 

'Shepherd,  wilt  my  true  love  be? 
Then,  awake !  for  it  is  day !'  " 

The  "Ballet  de  Madame"  was  most  successful,  and 
pleased  the  young  Queen  immensely. 

It  has  already  been  said  here  that,  besides  Guedron, 
there  were  other  celebrated  composers  at  that  time, 
Jacques  Mauduit,  a  gifted  man,  though  no  genius,  and 
better  known  as  a  composer  of  church  music  than  a 
maker  of  songs ;  Bataille,  lutinist  to  Anne,  and  a  won- 
derful dreamer  with  a  pretty  aptitude  for  delicate  har- 
monies ;  and  last  but  not  least  Boesset. 

Antoine  Boesset  was  of  noble  birth, — unlike  Gue- 
dron, who  had  risen  from  the  rank  and  file  of  the  peo- 
ple,— and  rejoiced  in  the  title  of  Sieur  de  Villedieu. 
He  was  a  rarely  charming  man  and  a  brilliant  musi- 
cian, and  by  some  persons  was  considered  greater  than 
Guedron.     Although  twenty  years  younger  than  the 


MAITRE  GUEDRON  185 

famous  Maitre,  he  was  one  of  the  King's  Councillors, 
Intendant  to  the  Queen,  a  more  celebrated  lutinist  even 
than  Bataillc,  and  Guedron's  most  formidable  rival 
in  the  world  of  song.  Nevertheless,  the  two  masters 
contrived  to  help,  instead  of  harming,  each  other,  sub- 
stituting collaboration  for  competition,  and  finally 
strengthening  the  tie  of  mutual  admiration  with  that 
of  relationship. 

Maitre  Guedron's  daughter  Jeanne  was  all  that  was 
most  charming  and  most  desirable.  She  was  that  rare 
creature  a  girl  of  the  people  with  an  instinct  for  sim- 
ple and  homely  pleasures  and  customs,  polished  by 
contact  with  the  cleverest  men  and  most  fascinating 
women  of  the  Court.  She  had  3'outh,  charm,  culti- 
vation, lack  of  self-consciousness,  and  the  wit  born  of 
necessity  in  a  life  among  the  brilliant  and  unscrupulous 
French  courtiers. 

The  Sieur  de  A''illedieu  fell  in  love  with  Jeanne  Gue- 
dron,  and  she  with  him,  and  their  marriage  served  to 
cement  permanently  the  bond  between  the  two  dis- 
tinguished musicians. 

As  Louis  XIII.  grew  older  he  proved,  as  one  writer 
has  said,  "more  at  home  in  music  than  in  politics." 
Having  appointed  Richelieu  as  his  Prime  Minister,  he 
turned  his  back,  metaphorically,  upon  state  affairs 
whenever  he  could,  devoting  his  real  enthusiasm  to  the 
framing  of  Romances  as  much  like  those  of  Maitre 
Guedron  as  possible. 


186  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

In  Louis  two  musical  souls  seemed  constantly  at 
war.  One  manifested  itself  in  his  devotion  to  church 
music,  and  the  other  was  betrayed  in  his  unconquerable 
leanina;  toward  such  of  the  more  frivolous  branches  of 
the  art  which  his  father  had  patronised.  This  latter 
taste  eventually  predominated  over  the  marked  if 
sporadic  asceticism  of  the  former,  and  in  time  he  grew 
inordinately  fond  of  the  popular  Ballet  which  he  had 
first  disdained. 

On  January  29th,  1617,  a  great  Court  Ballet, 
written  by  Guedron,  Boesset,  Bataille  and  Mauduit, 
was  produced.  It  was  entitled  "La  Deliverance  de 
Renault,"  and  was  a  most  extravagantly  spectacular 
affair.  In  it  were  employed  sixty-four  singers, 
twenty-four  viol  players,  and  fourteen  lutinists.  The 
effect  was  very  fine,  we  are  told,  and  the  interest  of 
the  audience  was  vastly  increased  by  the  fact  that  the 
King  himself  had  a  part.  In  fact  he  impersonated  the 
Fire-Devil — "Le  Demon  du  Feu" — to  the  delight  of 
the  Court! 

Indeed,  it  became  quite  fashionable  for  great  per- 
sonages to  take  part  in  the  Masques  and  Ballets  given 
at  the  Court.  And  courtiers  with  good  voices,  and 
pretty  court  ladies  who  knew  how  to  dance,  found  in 
this  form  of  amateur  theatricals  a  charming  oppor- 
tunity for  the  exhibition  of  their  peculiar  gifts. 

The  King,  in  addition  to  histrionic  tendencies,  had 
other  graceful,  if  unremarkable,  accomplishments.  One 


MAITRE  GUEDRON  187 

was  his  gift  of  rhj'ming.  Although  not  startHngly 
original,  his  poem  "Aniarylis"  is  quoted  still  as  an  ex- 
ample of  seventeenth  century  verse-making : 

"Thou  thinkest,  sun  most  bright, 

That  naught  is  radiant  as  thy  glowing  light. 

When,  in  the  springtide  hours. 
Thou  fashionest  the  flowers; 

But,  lo !  thou  palest  quite 

Before  the  eyes  of  Amarylis !" 

In  addition  to  his  many  lovely  songs,  Maitre 
Guedron  composed  the  following  Ballets :  "La  Sere- 
nade," 161-i;  an  unnamed  Ballet  in  the  beginning  of 
1615;  "Ballet  de  Madame"  in  the  following  March; 
"La  Deliverance  de  Renault,"  1617;  "Ballet  de  la 
Reine,"  airs  for  "Ballet  de  Psyche,"  1619;  "Ballet 
dcs  Dernieres  Victoires  du  Roi"  and  several  others  in 
1620,  and  last,  "Ballet  de  M.  le  Prince  de  Conde." 
We  have  no  record  of  any  further  work,  and  though 
the  exact  date  of  Pierre  Guedron's  death  is  not  known, 
we  may  assume  that  it  was  soon  after  the  composition 
of  the  last-named  Ballet.  For  with  Maitre  Guedron 
to  live  was  to  compose. 

Pierre  Guedron's  songs  are  so  delicate,  so  sweet,  and 
withal  so  masterly  that  one  cannot  help  regretting  the 
fact  that  he  is  not  better  known  to-day.  In  regard 
to  both  words  and  music  his  lyrics  are  second  to  none 
in  the  history  of  French  music. 

We  do  not  know  whether  or  not  Guedron  wrote  his 
own  verses.     If  he  did,  he  showed  himself  to  have  been 


188  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

a  charming  poet  as  well  as  a  great  musician.  Per- 
haps the  loveliest  of  his  Romances  is  that  which  begins : 
^^Au  plaisirs,  cm  delices,  hergeres!" : 

"Every  Shepherdess,  hasten  to  pleasure, 

And  be  wary  with  Time's  scanty  measure; 

For  like  water  it  slips  through  the  fingers. 
And  'tis  only  regret  then  that  lingers ! 

Seek  your  joys,  through  the  spring  forest  roving. 
And  spend  all  your  brief  youth  in  loving  I"     .     ,     , 

The  melody  is  of  a  sort  to  match  the  words :  tender, 
graceful,  spirited,  daintily  sad,  but  never  lagging, — 
full  of  quick  changes  of  key  that  only  a  master  could 
dare. 

Maitre  Guedron  was  a  great  song-writer ; — one  of 
the  kings  of  the  lyric  craft.  If  few  of  us  know  and 
love  him  to-day  as  he  deserves,  it  is  because  the  spirit 
of  his  Romances  is  of  the  stuff  that  dreams  are  made 
on, — a  trifle  beyond  our  blunt  twentieth  century  per- 
ceptions. As  beautiful  and  perfect  songs,  they  will 
always  live  in  the  appreciation  of  musicians  and  stu- 
dents, but  for  popularity — ah,  well !  their  colouring  is 
too  faint  and  exquisite  for  the  bright  glare  of  modern 
times.  They  seem  to  require  the  subdued  light  and 
scented  spaces  of  the  gardens  of  Versailles. 

But,  by  cajoling  the  laggard  fancy,  one  may  re- 
cover some  tattered  bit  of  the  soft-hued  tapestry  of  the 
past  to  serve  as  a  setting  and  background  for  Maitre 
Guedron's  songs.     One  may  dream  that  one  hears  the 


MAITRE  GUEDRON  189 

light  echo  of  lute  and  laughter  and  the  murmur  of 
satin  skirts.  One  may  breathe  in  imagination  the 
heavy  scents  that  came  to  Court  from  indolent  Italy, 
see  the  fair  women  and  careless  gallants,  and  feel, — like 
a  cobweb  touch, — the  soft,  sweet,  butterfly-life  of  it 
all ;  a  butterfly -life  that  hovered  always  above  marshes 
and  gravej'ards,  battlefields  and  bottomless  pits. 
"Be  wary  with   Time's   scanty  measure," 

sang  ]\Iaitre  Guedron, — delightful  old  Pagan  ! — 

"For  like  water  it  slips  through  the  fingers, 
And  'tis  only  regret,  then,  that  lingers !" 

Ah,  INIaitre  Guedron,  Maitre  Guedron !  What  a 
philosophy  of  life  is  this !  Is  it,  indeed,  you  who 
off'cr  us  such  counsel.'*  Is  it  possible  that  thus  you 
advise  a  struggling,  bewildered,  wistful  world  .-^  You, 
"Master  of  the  Royal  Music,  and  Composer  to  His 
Majesty," — you,  a  maker  of  master-songs,  and  a 
teacher  of  Kings ! 


THE   WANDERING    PEOPLE 


A  MAGYAR  SONG 

(  By  Erkel  EIek  ) 


^^ 


<k=7e: 


5* *«- 


=5=1^ 


=ac=g|<» — I* — =^ 


S=l£: 


Let  tliem  find  ont  what  my  heart  now  hopes,  now  fears ! 


;¥i— S- 


'5m      !*     -1 


i5==fe 


AVhat   is      it    that  Alls  mine  eyes    with  un  -  shed  tears  ? 


itzzriv 


E^EIt 


This  gladsome  grief,  this  sweet  un  -  rest,  And  all  these  wak- 


n=?^ 


Es^ 


js=gig 


-    ing   dreams  with  which  my      nights  are    bless  -  ed  ? 


g 


i 


EE 


-Bfi= 


^E 


What     fills      my      soul       with    hope's  young    Spring? 


=5=^ 


5|tE^=iS^gp^^3ga^^^g3 


Let  tliem  find  out  what  pain  such  hap.pi-ness     can  bring. 


X 
THE   WANDERING    PEOPLE 


IN  the  fourteenth  century  great  bands  of  dark- 
skinned  beings  began  to  appear  in  Europe,  and  in- 
cidentally in  Hungary.  The  old  records  say  that 
tliere  were  "many  of  them,  and  that  they  were  headed 
by  Counts  and  Dukes  in  rich  dress."  The  warm  and 
mysterious  East  looked  out  of  their  deep  black  eyes, 
and  in  their  lazy  smiles  and  lithe  movements  likewise 
was  their  Oriental  origin  made  manifest.  A  trifle  like 
Turks  they  were,  yet  with  a  definite  difference,  for  they 
were  Scythians,  of  the  Finno-Ugrian  race, — so  Mr. 
Krehbiel  says ;  also,  they  hailed  originally  from  Hin- 
dustan. 

By  gradual  stages  they  came,  with  a  truly  Oriental 
lack  of  speed  or  violence.  Slowly  they  infested  the 
Southeastern  part  of  Hungary,  and  there  they  stayed, 
among  the  Magyars.  Quietly  but  unmistakably  their 
influence  began  to  steal  into  the  Hungarian  soul. 
Such  is  the  way  of  the  Orient  and  the  Orientals. 

By  the  fifteenth  century  they  were  an  integral  part 
of  the  people's  life.  Yet  they  waged  no  war  (al- 
though sorely  oppressed  and  persecuted),  demanded 


194  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

no  lands,  settled  in  no  city, — no,  nor  yet  village! — 
asked  no  favours,  and  mingled  but  little,  at  first,  with 
the  Magyar  folk. 

For  these  were  the  Gypsies, — the  Wandering  Peo- 
ple. 

Out  of  far-away  tropical  lands  that  have  dreamed 
away  centuries  with  far  less  struggle  or  concern  than 
we  have  spent  on  a  few  short  years,  came  the  Wan- 
dering People  of  old.     They  had — 

".    .    .    yearned  beyond  the  sky-line 
Where  the  strange  roads  go  down." 

In  fact,  it  was  and  always  will  be  their  inevitable 
and  eternal  doom  so  to  yearn  toward  those  unseen 
roadways — roadways  that  lead — where?  In  all  men 
and  women  possessed  of  that  same  fateful  yearning 
is  the  blood  of  the  Wandering  People. 

Spurred  by  the  yearning, — that  unrest  which  draws 
forth  stars  now  and  then  from  their  places  in  high 
heaven,  and  impels  them,  whirling,  down  to  the  sea, — 
they  came  to  wander  through  new  lands. 

And  because  the  East  is  invariably  sumptuous  and 
spectacular  when  not  utterly  sordid  and  vile,  they 
came  "headed  by  Counts  and  Dukes  in  rich  dress" ! 
"Count"  and  "Duke"  were  mediasval  Hungary's  trans- 
lations, doubtless,  of  mysterious  Indian  titles.  Titles 
were  dear  to  the  Wandering  People.  They  clung  to 
every  strange  insignia  of  rank  conceivable,  and  pre- 
served ceremonies  and  formalities  that  had  about  them 


THE  WANDERING  PEOPLE        195 

still  the  aroma  of  spices,  and  unguents,  and  jungle- 
jasmine. 

They  sought  out  the  wildest,  loneliest  spots  for  their 
stopping-places ; — dwellings  they  had  not,  nor  did 
they  wish  for  them.  In  the  depths  of  the  forests  and 
on  remote  hillsides  they  lived  their  lives, — smiling  and 
dreaming,  and  keeping  very  close  to  the  great  primi- 
tive marvels  of  Mother  Earth. 

Elemental  they  were,  yet  strangely,  mystically 
spiritual.  Whatever  they  did,  be  the  deed  great  or 
small,  had  Romance  for  a  crown  and  Melancholy  for 
a  pedestal.  Their  lips  were  shaped  to  the  praise  of 
Beauty ;  their  hearts  were  attuned  to  the  philosophy  of 
Sorrow. 

At  first,  in  spite  of  their  intense  hatred  of  dis- 
turbance and  trouble,  the  Gypsies  were  the  objects  of 
a  systematic  persecution.  They  were  accused  of  can- 
nibalism and  witchcraft,  and  were  racked  and  burned 
and  put  to  death  in  numberless  ingenious  ways. 

When  any  man  disappeared  mysteriously  the  catch- 
word of  the  day  was :  "The  Gypsies  ate  him !"  And 
the  suspected  Gypsies  would  be  captured  and  haled 
before  a  tribunal  of  ostensible  justice.  There,  under 
tortures  such  as  the  mediaeval  magistrate  seemed  skil- 
ful in  devising,  the  Gypsies  would  confess  that  "they 
had  eaten  him  !"  Thereupon  they  would  be  killed,  more 
or  less  mercifully. 

And  if,  next  day,  the  missing  man  happened  to  be 


196  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

found,  and  the  recent  demonstration  was  proved  to 
have  been  murder  and  not  execution,  pubhc  opinion 
said :  "Well,  if  we  had  not  had  them  killed  they  would 
soon  have  eaten  some  one  else,  in  any  case !" 

But  in  spite  of  these  ghastl}^  preliminaries,  the 
Gypsies  rapidly  gained  so  firm  a  foothold  in  Hun- 
gtiry  that  persecution  gave  place  to  tolerance,  and 
finally  to  complete  acceptance. 

They  cleared  themselves,  in  time,  from  the  charge 
of  cannibalism,  but  they  have  never  succeeded  in  re- 
futing that  of  witchcraft.  As  psychics  and  occultists 
they  will  be  held  as  long  as  the  East  remains  the 
Arch-Sybil  of  the  world.  And  who  can  know  that 
they  did  not  bring  with  them  from  mystical  Hindu- 
stan the  eyes  that  See,  and  the  ears  that  Hear.'' 

To  understand  the  "Musicians  of  Hungary,"  one 
must  know  something  of  the  queerness  and  quaintness 
of  their  customs, — for  in  such  things  are  the  inherent 
impulses  and  sympathies  of  a  race  disclosed. 

Who  but  the  Gypsies  would  dream  of  renouncing 
some  trifling  material  luxury,  in  honour  of  the  dead? 
When  a  Gypsy  husband  and  father  dies,  his  widow  and 
children  take  a  solemn,  formal  and  eternal  oath  never 
again  to  taste  the  article  of  food  which  he  liked  best! 

When  on  long  marches,  there  are  always  some  mem- 
bers of  the  band  who  lag  behind,  or  wander  from  the 
road  In  search  of  adventures  by  the  way, — children 
who  have  paused  to  chase  butterflies,  or  young  men 


THE  WANDERING  PEOPLE        197 

who  have  slipped  away  to  make  prett}'  speeches  to 
soft-eyed  peasant  girls.  For  these  there  are  a  dozen 
signals,  which  are  left  by  the  others.  A  little  group 
of  stones  means  one  thing,  two  crossed  sticks  another, 
a  pile  of  grass,  leaves  or  straw  a  third, — and  so  on. 
The  vagrant  gypsies,  hurrying  after  their  comrades, 
find  messages  and  directions  for  their  guidance,  telling 
them  the  route  chosen  by  the  band  and  any  other 
necessary  information,— in  a  language  most  easy  for 
them  to  understand.  For  life  in  the  clean  open  world 
sharpens  the  faculties,  and  when  one's  only  primers 
and  books  have  been  roads  and  fields,  one  grows  apt  at 
reading  letters  that  are  penned  in  pebbles  and  grass- 
blades. 

But  the  odd  and  delightful  ways  of  the  Gypsies  are 
legion.  They  are  a  charming  people,  and  one  of  their 
most  wonderful  traits  is  their  unchangeableness !  As 
they  are  to-day,  so  they  were,  we  gather,  six  centuries 
ago.  They  have  never  lost  the  glamour  that  clung  to 
those  strange  garments  which  they  wore  from  Hin- 
dustan. In  the  fourteenth  century  they  left  epistles 
for  their  companions  penned  with  sticks  and  straws 
and  leaves  upon  the  high  road,  and  renounced  the 
favourite  delicacies  of  their  beloved  dead. 

A  strange  but  intensely  s^'mpathctic  people  they 
have  been  from  the  beginning,  and  well  for  Hungary 
that  they  came  to  her  forests  and  mountains,  and  grew 
to  be  so  vital  a  part  of  her  spirit  and  heart.     And 


198  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

well,  too,  for  Music  that  the  music  of  the  Magyars 
should  have  been  thus  perfected.  For  the  Gypsies 
had  a  tribute  to  pay  to  the  land  that  they  had  adopted  ; 
they  did  not  only  wander  and  dream  and  laugh  to- 
gether under  the  sun  and  the  stars.  They  made  songs, 
— the  songs  of  the  Gypsies, — the  songs  of  the  un- 
walled  hill-spaces  and  echoless  woods,  the  songs  of  the 
House  of  the  Wandering  People  that  has  the  sky  for 
its  roof. 

Their  songs,  like  wine,  coursed  through  the  veins  of 
Southern  Hungary.  The  cold,  wild  Slovaks  in  the 
northwestern  part  of  the  country  chanted  their  Sla- 
vonic melodies  in  vain.  Never  did  the  music  of  the 
Slav  pervade  Hungary.  The  Gypsy  music  became 
the  Magyar  music,  and  the  Magyar  music  became  the 
music  of  Hungary.  In  Magyar-land  the  real  Hun- 
garian music  was  born,  and  lived,  as  it  lives  to-day, — 
a  red-blooded,  passionate,  tragic,  joyous  thing,  whose 
wings  beat  to  an  unheard  rhythm,  whose  soul  is  moun- 
tain-mist, and  whose  heart  is  a  coal  of  living  fire. 

Franz  Liszt,  the  One  Who  Knew,  declared  that  to 
the  Gypsies,  and  the  Gypsies  alone,  belonged  the  music 
of  Hungary. 

There  were,  to  be  sure,  a  number  of  religious  out- 
bursts in  music  just  after  Christianity  had  swept  over 
Europe,  and  again  during  the  Reformation.  But  the 
Hungarians  belonged  to  their  country  before  the 
Church,  and  ecclesiastical  music  was  their  strong  point 


THE  WANDERING  PEOPLE        199 

at  no  time.  They  would  not  even  sing  their  hymns  in 
Latin,  but  always  in  the  Magyar  tongue !  And  be- 
3"ond  one  really  beautiful  "Hymn  to  the  Virgin,"  an- 
other equally  fine  "Hymn  to  St.  Stephen," — once  King 
and  always  Patron-Saint  of  Hungary, — and  one  or 
two  further  exceptions,  Church-jMusic  had  but  a  faint- 
hearted existence  in  the  land  of  the  Magyars. 

The  Folk-Song,  brought  to  its  full  development  by 
the  Gypsies'  Oriental  infusion,  had  and  has  a  supreme 
place  in  the  heart  of  the  nation  as  it  has  an  assured 
niche  in  the  history  of  the  world's  music. 

And  to  this  day  it  is  the  Gipsies  who  are  the  "Musi- 
cians of  Hungar}'."  From  their  fingers  come  the  airs 
for  those  mad,  thrilling  dances  so  universally  and 
poignantly  associated  with  the  spirit  of  the  nation. 
And  from  their  life,  too,  come  the  wonderful  Magyar 
songs, — as  sad  as  life  and  as  mad  as  love,  as  strange 
as  happiness  and  as  eternalU'  questioning  as  death. 
Mr.  Krehbiel,  in  his  "How  to  Listen  to  Music,"  points 
out  that  it  is  a  common  error  to  believe  that  all  Mag3'ar 
music  is  Gypsy  music.  He  says :  "The  Gypsies  have 
for  centuries  been  the  musical  practitioners  of  Hun- 
gary, but  they  are  not  the  composers  of  the  music  of 
the  Magyars,  though  they  have  put  a  marked  impress 
not  only  on  the  melodies,  but  also  on  popular  taste. 
The  Hungarian  folk-songs  arc  a  perfect  reflex  of  the 
national  character  of  the  Magyars,  and  some  have  been 
traced  back  centuries  in  their  literature." 


200  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

But  if  the  Gypsies  only  coloured  the  Magyar  music, 
what  a  colouring  it  is!  Such  colouring  as  a  great 
master  might  paint  upon  the  charcoal  sketch  of  his 
pupil.  If  they  did  not  actually  compose  the  melodies 
which  they  played  and  sang  so  inimitably,  they  in- 
vested them  with  a  character  and  personality  all  their 
own.  Indeed,  fair  testimony  of  this  lies  in  the  uni- 
versal acceptance  of  the  Gypsy  music  as  INIagyar 
music, — even  though  it  be,  as  Mr.  Krehbiel  says, 
erroneous. 

Only  of  the  East  could  be  born  such  imagery  and 
colouring, — the  East  wedded  to  that  robust  and  vigor- 
ous strength  which  made  the  heroes  of  Hungary  im- 
mortal. 

The  following  stanza  forms  the  text  of  a  song  by 
Erkel  Elek,  and  from  a  poetical  standpoint,  shows  the 
Oriental  character  of  the  national  imagery : 

^"Thine  eyes  are  black  as  the  deep  night, 
Yet  they  shine  like  the  day  so  bright: 
For  as  countless  as  the  drops  are  in  the  sea, 
So  are  the  stars  which  from  thine  eyes  flash  down  on  me." 

In  the  following  verses  the  Eastern  play  of  fancy 

is  quite  as  apparent: 

"From  his  boat  into  Balatin's  waves 
Tossed  the  Fisherman  his  net, 
Fishing  for  the  love  w^hich  has  fled. 
Since  she  betrayed  him,  and  left  him  alone  with  his  grief. 

*This   and   the    following  translations   from   the   Hungarian 
by  Madame  Zerffi. 


THE  WANDERING  PEOPLE        201 

"Into  Balatin's  waves  would  I  toss 
Down  my  heart  with  its  tears  and  its  wail, 
For  love  was  its  anchor,  and  hope  was  its  sail: 
It  can  never  recover  their  loss." 

And  here  is   something  which  shows  the  Magyar 

song-maker  in  his  gaj'^est  and  most  irresistible  mood. 

It  is  rather  a  well-known  song,  called,  in  the  original, 

"Piros,  piros,  piros,  piros !" — and,  whether  we  imagine  Y 

it  sung  by  a  Gypsy  or  a  Hungarian  peasant,  it  has  the 

national    spirit    of    merriment, — condensed    into    two 

stanzas : 

"Red,  red,  red  the  wine  is 
Which  so  brightly  fills  my  glass; 
Fair,  fair,  fair  my  sweet  is. 
My  true,  my  shy,  my  own  lass ! 
But  full  of  whims  is  she: 
When  her  eyes  glow  tenderly. 
And  I  bid  her  'kiss  me,  dear,' 
She  always  says — 'Xo !' 

"You  must,  you  must  laugh  not; 
In  Lent  this  is   forbidden! 
I  must,  I  must  love  not, 
My  loving,  tender,  sweetest  dove! 
But  ah !  her  looks  so  bright 
Put  all  my  resolves  to  flight; 
When  I  bid  her  'kiss  me,  dear,' 
She  always  says — 'No !'  " 

"Piros,  piros,  piros,  piros,"  seems  the  very  quin- 
tessence of  joy  in  life.  The  lover  who  sings  is  a  merry, 
carefree,  wholesome  creature,  who  likes  red  wine  and 
laughter,  and  has  but  a  slight  reverence  for  the  restric- 


202  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

tions  imposed  upon  him  by  the  Church.     In  this  is  the 
very  root  and  base  of  the  Hungarian  peasant's  re- 

hgion : 

"You  must,  you  must  laugh  not, 
In  Lent  this  is  forbidden!" 

Pure  irony  here : 

"I   must,  I   must  love  not," 

What  Church  could  stop  him? 

"But  ah!  her  looks  so  bright 
Put  all  my  resolves  to  flight !" 

Such  are  the  Lenten  resolves,  and  indeed  the  re- 
ligious convictions,  of  the  average  Magyar. 

But  of  all  the  Hungarian  songs  which  translations 

and  English  editions  have  made  familiar  to  us  almost 

the  loveliest  is  the  following  wonderful  little  fragment 

of  universal  tenderness : 

"Let  them  find  out  what  my  heart  now  hopes,  now  fears! 
What  is  it  that  fills  mine  eyes  with  unshed  tears? 
This  gladsome  grief,  this  sweet  unrest, — 
And  aU  these  waking  dreams  with  which  my  nights  are 

blessed? 
What  fills  my  soul  with  life's  young  spring? 
Let  them  find  out  what  pain  such  happiness  can  bring." 

The  rhythm  of  Hungarian  music  is  as  strange 
and  distinctive  as  that  of  Scandinavia.  The  curious 
management  of  word,  note,  accent  and  beat,  all  seem- 
ingly at  odds  with  one  another,  becomes  extraordinary 


THE  WANDERING  PEOPLE        203 

when  one  hears  the  impossible  achieved,  and  grasps 
the  fact  that  the  JMagyar's  sense  of  strict  time  is  one 
of  the  most  emphatic  in  the  world.  How  these  metri- 
cal problems  are  solved  into  melodious  and  rhythmical 
compositions  is  a  question  which  can  only  be  answered 
by  a  Magyar  Gypsy, — or  Liszt.  Mr.  Krehbiel  says 
that  the  rhythmical  oddities  in  the  Magyar  music  are 
direct  products  of  the  Magyar  language.  With  the 
strange  little  terminal  or  cadence : 


i 


(sometimes  minus  the  grace  note)  the  Liszt  "Raph- 
sodies"  have  made  the  entire  world  of  music-lovers  fa- 
miliar. Simple  in  itself,  it  is  immensely  character- 
istic, and  an  interesting  bit  of  musical  invention.  Liszt, 
in  the  "Gypsy  Epics,"  as  he  liked  to  call  them,  has  also 
immortalised  that  odd  accentuation  of  the  uneven  beat 
which  is  so  peculiarly  typical  of  the  Gypsy  music : 


f 


e     r  ■     r- 


This  last  rhythmical  detail  is  by  no  means  exclusively 
the  property  of  the  Magyars,  but  their  way  of  making 
use  of  it  is  entirely  their  own, — and  it  is  too  integral 
a  part  of  nearly  all  of  their  melodies  not  to  be  pointed 
out. 


204.  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

There  are  very  few  celebrated  song-writers  in  Hun- 
garian history, — few  musicians,  indeed,  of  genuine 
renown  before  our  beloved  Liszt.  Here  and  there  a 
name  stands  out,  in  a  vague  and  glimmering  fashion, 
partly  hidden  by  mists  and  shadows:  Andreas 
Vasarheli,  who  wrote  the  "Hymn  to  the  Virgin,"  al- 
ready mentioned, — a  composition  which,  for  some  rea- 
son, was  first  printed  in  Nuremberg  in  1484 ;  and  the 
great  bishop,  Slatkonia,  born  in  1456,  who  was  Chapel- 
master  to  Maximilian  I.,  and  a  skilled  composer;  and 
the  famous  "Sebastian  the  Lutinist,"  whose  real  name 
was  Tinodi,  a  strolling  musician  and  a  most  sweet 
singer,  who  died  in  the  sixteenth  century.  But  Hun- 
gary is  essentially  a  land  of  folk-songs  rather  than 
of  finished  music. 

Concerning  the  Hungarian's  absorbing  passion  in 
his  country  and  his  art,  Mrs.  Wodehouse  writes : 

"The  very  exclusiveness  with  which  he  loves  his  own 
music  has,  by  excluding  foreign  influence,  been  a  hin- 
drance to  its  progress,  and  has  condemned  it  to  a  long 
stagnation  in  the  immature  stage  of  mere  national 
music." 

But  she  adds: 

".  .  .  It  must,  nevertheless,  be  admitted  that  the 
Hungarians  can  fairly  plead  the  unsurpassed  beauty 
of  their  national  melodies  as  an  excuse  for  their  ex- 
clusive devotion." 

And  these  national  melodies,  the  beauty  of  which  is 


THE  WANDERING  PEOPLE        205 

recognised  by  everyone,  and  the  mystery  and  magic 
by  the  few  who  have  an  occult  sympathy  with  things 
Oriental,  came  from  the  presence  in  Hungary  of  the 
Wandering  People. 

Liszt,  the  One  Who  Knew,  called  them:  "Hu- 
man birds,  nesting  where  the}'^  would  in  the  forests,  or 
upon  the  bosoms  of  the  great  lonely  mountains.    .   .   ." 

Human  birds  are  they  indeed,  to  whom  has  been 
granted  the  music-soul  which  is  the  prerogative  of  the 
feathered  kind,  and  of  the  children  of  the  gods.  Com- 
panions to  the  things  that  fly, — and  to  the  things  that 
creep  and  scamper  and  vanish  among  the  shadows ; — 
companions  to  streams  and  stars,  and  trees  and  under- 
brush,— the  Gypsies  could  hardly  fail  to  have  a  wood- 
note  in  their  songs,  such  as  the  birds  themselves  have, — 
or  the  water  of  the  brook  as  it  falls  in  an  everlasting 
melody,  from  stone  to  stone. 

This  is  one  element  of  the  music  of  the  Wandering 
People.  The  other  is  the  Something  that  looks  from 
their  deep  eyes,  and  flashes  in  their  smiles ;  that  throbs 
in  their  passionate  hearts  and  dreams  in  their  meta- 
physical souls ;  the  Something  that  is  mysterious,  and 
impenetrable,  and  that,  through  the  maddest  tempest  of 
gaiety,  remains  immutably  and  infinitely  sad.  Men 
have  called  it  the  Shadow  of  the  East. 


THE    CASKET    OF    GRAPES 


AN  AIR  BY  CACCINI 


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XI 


THE    CASKET    OF    GRAPES 

A  great  casket,  heaped  high  with  bunches  of  grapes, 
was  their  device:  "Quid  non  designat  ebrietas?  (Who 
intends  not  to  get  drunk?)"  was  their  motto.  For 
these,  be  it  known,  were  the  celebrated  Florentine  sep- 
tet, "Degli  Alterati,"— which  means  "The  Thirsters." 
They  were  all  young,  all  brilliant,  all  noble,  and  all 
interested  paramountly  in  one  thing,  the  revolution  of 
music.  They  rebelled  violently  against  the  pedantic 
harmonic  form  then  in  vogue  among  the  better  class  of 
composers,  and  desired  to  bring  Dramatic  Song  to  its 
full  development.  A  small  but  heroic  band,  they 
undertook  the  reformation  of  lyric  art  in  1568.  They 
were  not  hampered  by  scruples  born  of  timidity,  nor  by 
too  much  professional  knowledge,  and  with  immense 
assurance  and  good  cheer  they  imbibed  wine  and  art 
in  pleasing  conjunction  at  the  house  of  that  accom- 
plished Thirster,  Pietro  Strozzi.  The  names  of  these 
seven  enthusiasts, — the  original  band  of  Alterati, — to 
whom  were  added  many  illustrious  names  later,  were,  in 
addition  to  Strozzi :  Giovanni  Bardi  Conte  di  Vernio, 
Jacopo  Corsi,  Ottavio  Rinuccini,  Girolamo  Mei, 
Emilio  del  Cavaliere,  and  Vincenzo  Galilei. 


210  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Pietro  (sometimes  called  incorrectly  Giambattista) 
Strozzi  was  a  son  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  noblest 
houses  in  Florence.  Felipo  Strozzi,  a  dissipated  and 
utterly  vicious  man,  had  married  Clarice,  sister  of  the 
Lorenzo  de'  Medici  who  was  made  Duke  of  Urbino. 
It  was  Clarice  di  Strozzi  by  the  bye  who  refused  to 
recognise  her  half-brothers  and  desired  them  to  be 
exiled  from  the  country,  because  they  were  illegiti- 
mate. This  alliance  alone  proves  the  standing  of  the 
Casa  Strozzi.  Pietro  was  a  poet  of  genuine  ability, 
and  even  a  musician,  though  of  no  great  attainments. 
It  was  he  who  wrote  the  music  for  "II  Mascarada  degli 
Accecati  (The  Masquerade  of  the  Blind)"  in  1595. 

Giovanni  Bardi,  the  Count  of  Verino,  was  one  of 
the  most  prominent  nobles  of  the  day.  He  was  a  bril- 
liant and  renowned  mathematician  as  well  as  being  a 
man  of  letters  and  a  composer.  His  own  music  cer- 
tainly never  was  inspired,  but  his  artistic  appreciation 
was  keen  and  valuable.  He  belonged  to  the  Academy 
"Delia  Crusca,"  a  celebrated  literary  institution,  and 
his  standing  in  Florence  was  particularly  high.  He 
was  a  clever  librettist,  and  among  other  works  wrote  the 
text  for  "II  Combattimento  d'  Apollino  Cal  Serpente," 
later  set  to  music  by  Caccini. 

Jacopo  Corsi  was  another  Florentine  noble  passion- 
ately devoted  to  the  interests  of  art  in  general  and 
music  in  particular.  He,  too,  had  a  gift,  though  not 
a  positive  talent,  for  composition,  and  was  a  fairly 


THE  CASKET  OF  GRAPES         211 

good  musician  of  the  dilettante  order.  Ottavio 
Rinuccini  was  a  poet  and  a  dramatist,  with  a  dream 
of  reviving  the  dramatic  forms  of  the  ancient  Greeks. 
He  closely  approached  being  a  genius,  and  was  the 
poet  chosen,  in  after  years,  to  accompany  Marie  de' 
Medici,  as  dramatist  and  singer,  when  she  went  to 
France  to  marry  Henri  IV.  A  dim  sort  of  rumour  has 
been  circulated, — the  sort  of  rumour  which  often  be- 
gins and  ends  in  smoke, — that  Rinuccini  loved  Queen 
Marie.  But  as  he  has  been  dead  these  very  many 
years,  no  man  will  ever  know  how  true  or  false  it  is. 

Girolamo  Mei  was  enthusiastically  devoted  to  the 
cause  of  music,  but  had  very  slight  musical  talents 
himself.  He  was  especially  conspicuous  and  success- 
ful in  his  literary  works  on  music,  being  the  author  of 
several  brilliant  treatises,  and  possessed  of  a  gift  which 
to-day  we  should  term  "journalistic." 

Emilio  del  Cavalierc  was  one  of  the  two  genuinely 
talented  composers  among  the  seven  original  Alterati. 
He  was  born  in  Rome  of  a  noble  family,  and  had  an 
inherent  instinct  for  and  knowledge  of  artistic  things. 
While  he  was  still  absurdly  young  he  was  summoned 
to  the  Court  of  Tuscany  by  Duke  Ferdinando  de' 
Medici.  The  Duke  appointed  him  Inspector-General 
of  the  Artists  of  Florence,  and  in  that  somewhat  in- 
definite capacity  he  came  to  know  Bardi,  Strozzi,  and 
the  rest.  A  brilliant  musician  was  Cavaliere,  and  one 
who   understood   the   possibilities   of  the   voice   to   a 


212  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

marvellous  degree.  He  was  a  typical  "Alterate,"  in- 
asmuch as  he  was  of  the  nature  that  experiments.  Not 
only  was  he  among  the  first  composers  to  employ  such 
vocal  ornamentation  as  the  trill,  shake,  turn,  etc. 
(gruppo  and  grupetto  such  tonal  oscillation  was 
termed  in  Italy),  but  he  was  also  one  of  the  pioneers 
in  the  use  of  the  figured  bass  for  instrumental  music. 
Incidentally  he  was,  of  all  the  Alterati,  the  most  in- 
timate friend  of  their  poetic  Muse,  Laura  Guidiccioni. 

Although  only  thirty-three  at  the  time  of  the  found- 
ing of  the  Alterati,  Vincenzo  Galilei  was  probably  its 
oldest  member.  He  is  famous  for  a  great  number  of 
interesting  things, — among  others  for  being  the  father 
of  Galileo  Galilei,  the  immortal  astronomer,  and  for 
having  invented  solo-singing!  He  studied  with 
GiosefFe  Zarlino,  the  great  master  and  contrapuntalist, 
but  in  spite  of  being  a  brilliant  lutinist  and  viol-player, 
and  a  musician  of  robust  inspiration,  he  was  by  no 
means  a  genius.  There  are,  however,  few  men  in 
musical  history  to  whom  we  owe  a  larger  debt  of  grati- 
tude. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  genius  was  not  the  presiding 
element  in  these  early  meetings  under  the  symbol  of 
the  Casket  of  Grapes.  They  were  all  dilettanti,  the 
founders  of  the  Alterati.  Subsequently  they  added  to 
their  gatherings  several  genuine  planetary  lights,  but 
the  original  Seven  were  chiefly  conspicuous  for  their 
enthusiasm.     Yet  they   succeeded   in   revolutionising 


THE  CASKET  OF  GRAPES         213 

lyric  and  dramatic  music,  and  out  of  those  friendly 
and  convivial  meetings  of  theirs  grew  a  new  era  for 
song, — not  only  in  Italy  but  all  over  the  world. 

Florence  has  always  been  an  artistic  centre.  She 
has  never  been  particularly'  conspicuous  for  her  morals, 
but  she  could  invariably  be  counted  on  for  her  manners. 
The  Medici  did  not  make  for  high  ethical  standards, 
but  they  were  patrons  of  the  arts.  During  her  worst 
epochs  "Firenze"  was  beautiful,  and  it  is  certain  that 
even  her  Carnival  bull-baiting  must  have  been  carried 
on  with  a  graceful  sort  of  barbarity. 

The  "Canti  Carnascialeschi  (Carnival  Songs)"  of 
Florence  should  be  better  known.  Beginning  as  mere 
street-ballads,  they  grew,  under  that  thorough-paced 
but  artistic  scoundrel  Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  into  plays 
and  operettas. 

He  whom  Browning's  "Fra  Lippo  Lippi"  calls 
"Master  Cosimo  of  the  Medici"  was  the  ruling  power 
in  Florence  in  1568.  He  was  an  interesting  person, 
with  a  fondness  for  murdering  his  children,  but  a 
profound  appreciation  of  art. 

In  every  way  possible  the  aim  of  the  city  was  to- 
ward beauty.  Vice  might  exist  if  it  liked,  it  might 
even  be  encouraged  and  welcomed  with  songs  and  tim- 
brels, but  it  must  be  charming  vice,  artistic  vice,  with 
a  definite  aesthetic  mission  to  fulfil, — a  duty  toward  the 
Florentine  gods  who  were  all  Pagan  and  all  beautiful. 

Savonarola    preached    superbly    the    message    of 


214  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

"vanitas  vanitatum," — waging  a  crusade  of  sublime 
eloquence  against  the  frivolities  and  laxities  of  the 
day.  But  even  his  tirades  were  in  keeping  with  the 
standards  of  Florence,  for  they  were  always  perfect 
of  their  kind,  finished  expositions  of  the  highest  spirit- 
ual inspiration. 

And  the  vanity  of  things  went  on,  like  a  chime  of 
exquisite  bells,  empty  but  indescribably  tuneful ;  bells 
that  have  rung  since  Florence  was  born,  and  will  echo 
softly  on  until  she  has  crumbled  not  only  into  ruins, 
but  into  dust. 

It  was  Beauty  which  the  Alterati  desired ;  also,  it 
was  Truth.  They  were  tired  of  the  forms  that  meant 
nothing,  and  the  rules  that  excluded  even  the  possi- 
bility of  freedom.  They  wanted  music  which  would 
fire  the  soul  and  touch  the  heart,  and  for  the  scientific 
or  theoretic  accuracy  of  their  work  they  cared  but  a 
trifle.  Not  that  they  were  all  amateurs, — as  we  have 
seen,  for  instance,  from  the  achievements  of  Cavaliere, 
— but  they  recognised  with  perhaps  exaggerated  clear- 
ness the  lack  of  elasticity  and  of  spontaneity  in  the 
inflexible  counterpoint  in  vogue,  and  desired  to  bring 
about  a  musical  condition  in  keeping  with  the  Floren- 
tine passion  for  the  beautiful.  They  dreamed  of  a 
lyric  art  which  should  combine  the  freshness  and  charm 
of  the  folk-songs  and  carnival  airs  with  the  erudition 
of  the  musical  student.  This,  with  the  aid  of  three 
additional  Alterati, — Caccini,  Peri  and  Marenzio, — 


THE  CASKET  OF  GRAPES         215 

they  eventually  achieved.  To  these  ten  men,  and  a 
handful  of  s\'mpathetic  "Florentine  patricians,"  be- 
long the  honour  of  inaugurating  Monodic  (or  solo) 
song  in  the  appreciation  of  the  public,  and  of  present- 
ing to  the  world  the  embryo  of  the  Italian  Art  Song. 

At  that  time,  Italian  music  was  practically  entirely 
polyphonic  music.  The  monodic  form  did  not  exist 
except  in  street-songs.  Madrigals  there  were,  written 
for  four,  five  or  more  voices,  but  no  lyrics.  Moreover, 
the  secular  compositions  were  treated  by  the  masters 
of  the  day  precisely  as  though  they  were  masses, — 
rigid  adherence  to  the  laws  of  counterpoint  and  a  care- 
ful exclusion  of  spontaneity  or  levity  being  their  two 
characteristics.  It  was  this  incongruous  mixture  of 
secular  text  and  ecclesiastical  music  which  the  Alterati 
were  determined  to  change. 

When  Francesco  I.,  Duke  of  Tuscany,  married  the 
lovely  Bianca  Capello,  that  famous  Venetian  beauty, 
with  the  eventful  and  sad  career,  F'lorcnce  was  in  a 
positive  uproar  of  festivity.  The  bridal  music  was  to 
be  the  best  which  Italy  had  ever  heard,  and  was  to  be 
composed  by  the  great  Andrea  Gabrieli  and  Claudio 
Merulo.  These  two  Venetian  masters  are  renowned  in 
history  for  their  strict  musical  rhetoric.  They  wrote 
in  the  style  of  Palestrina,  and  created  models  in  correct 
form  and  contrapuntal  ingenuity  for  posterity. 

Had  the  occasion  been  a  funeral  or  even  a  Lenten 
mass,  their  music  would  have    been    superb ;  but    as 


216  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

bridal-songs  and  not  hymns  were  required,  the3^  merely 
succeeded  in  making  their  own  great  art  ridiculous. 
The  words  of  the  madrigals  were  of  the  least  churchly 
nature  imaginable, — chiefly  consisting  of  an  unin- 
terrupted enumeration  and  laudation  of  Bianca's  per- 
fections ;  and  the  music  was  such  as  might  have  accom- 
panied an  "Ave  Maria,  ora  pro  nobis" ! 

All  Florence  smiled  at  the  effect.  But  the  Alterati 
did  not  smile.  They  were  too  overwhelmed  with  dis- 
gust. They  had  come  to  hear  wedding-music  by  two 
of  the  greatest  masters  of  their  time,  and  they  had 
heard  a  performance  mainly  remarkable  for  its  ab- 
surdity. They  could  not  contain  what  they  felt,  being 
young  and  impetuous,  and  straightway  determined  to 
make  a  public  denunciation  of  the  universally  accepted 
style  of  "secular  music." 

By  this  time  the  Alterati  were  meeting  in  the  Palazzo 
Bardi, — for  Pietro  Strozzi,  that  brilliant  amateur  so 
well  beloved  by  his  friends,  was  dead.  Bardi  was  the 
acknowledged  patron  of  Florentine  art,  and  the  grow- 
ing circle  of  talented  men  of  which  the  Casket  of 
Grapes  was  the  device,  is  known  in  musical  history  as 
the  Bardi  coteri. 

Mei  and  Galilei  began  the  campaign  against  the 
recognised  standards  of  music  in  the  well-knoAvn  and 
brilliant  series  of  letters  called  the  "Dialogo  della 
Musica."  Fast  and  furious  waged  the  "Paper  War," 
as  it  was  termed.     Zarlino,  Galilei's  old  master,  be- 


THE  CASKET  OF  GRAPES         217 

longed  to  the  strict  polyphonic  school,  and  was  drawn 
into  tlic  vortex.  He  found  several  severe  things  to  say 
to  his  quondam  pupil  and  present  adversary,  some  of 
which  (notably  his  statements  in  regard  to  the  pitch- 
ing and  tuning  of  musical  instruments,  and  to  scales 
in  general)  were  absolutely  justified,  and  put  Galilei 
ignominiously  in  the  wrong. 

Art-lovers  were  divided,  generally  speaking,  in  two 
factions:  the  professionals,  who  for  the  most  part 
abided  by  the  old  rules  until  the  way  had  been  cleared 
for  their  defection, — and  the  dilettanti,  of  whom  Nau- 
mann  says :  "They  were  not  awed  by  any  hideous 
thought  of  casting  to  the  winds  the  experiences  and 
prejudices  of  the  professor.  If  any  dread  of  violating 
hard-and-fast  theory  had  had  any  weight  with  them 
their  efforts  would  have  been  paralysed.  .  .  .  And 
here  we  must  pay  a  just  tribute  to  the  dilettanti." 

Vincenzo  Galilei  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  born 
to  take  the  initiative.  He  was  not  a  genius,  but  he 
was  a  pioneer ;  and  he  possessed  that  species  of  dar- 
ing self-confidence  wliich  makes  a  brilliant  substitute 
for  higher  talents.  He,  Mei,  and  the  Alterati  in  gen- 
eral found  an  able  coopcrator  in  Giambattista 
Doni,  a  member  of  Delia  Crusca  and  a  celebrated  musi- 
cal theorist.  The  three  of  them,  sometimes  assisted  by 
Rinuccini,  attacked  the  established  music  of  the  world 
until  the  heavens  rang  with  the  vigour  of  their  de- 
nunciations. 


218  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

And  then,  one  day,  Galilei  proceeded  to  invent 
Monodic  Song. 

He  composed  a  cantata  called  "II  Conte  Ugolino," — 
founded  on  the  Ugolino  episode  in  "II  Purgatorio," — 
and,  accompanying  himself  on  his  viol,  sang  it  all 
through  himself,  to  his  assembled  friends. 

Even  the  Thirsters  were  amazed.  Never  had  the 
Casket  of  Grapes  presided  over  so  surprising  a  per- 
formance. Was  he  by  chance  the  victim  of  too  ex- 
cessive a  thirst,  both  for  wine  and  for  art.'' 

Some  of  his  hearers  laughed,  some  were  frankly  be- 
wildered, but  they  all  applauded  heartily,  and  Doni 
declares  that  it  was  "very  pleasing."  And  when 
Galilei  made  a  song  out  of  the  "Lamentations  of 
Jeremiah,"  and  sang  that,  the  thing  was  done :  Song, — 
single-voice,  Monodic,  solo  Song, — was  born. 

Galilei  could  not  bring  his  invention  to  completion, 
for  he  lacked  both  musical  inspiration  and  profound 
cultivation, — but  he  had  created  the  idea,  and  now  left 
it  to  other  and  greater  brains  to  develop.  Cavaliere 
quickly  surpassed  him  along  his  own  lines,  and  then 
came  the  three  new  Alterati  before  whom  not  only  the 
dilettanti  of  the  Casket  of  Grapes  but  all  Italians  were 
compelled  to  bow :  Giulio  Caccini,  Luca  Marenzio  and 
Giocomo  Peri. 

In  1558,  Giulio  Caccini  was  born  in  Rome, 
and  for  that  reason  is  sometimes  spoken  of  as  Giulio 
Romano,     He  learned  to  sing  and  to  play  the  lute 


THE  CASKET  OF  GRAPES         219 

from  Scipio  della  Palla,  the  master  who  did  so  much 
to  develop  the  grupetto.  When  Caccini  was  twenty 
he  went  to  Florence,  where  he  was  received  enthusiasti- 
cally by  the  Thirsters,  and  he  was  one  of  the  first  to 
follow  Galilei's  lead  in  writing  composition  for  the 
single  voice.  His  success  in  the  new  form  of  music 
was  instant  and  extraordinar3\  "You  are  the  father 
of  a  new  kind  of  music,"  wrote  to  him  Angelo  Grillo, 
Tasso's  friend, — "or  rather  singing, — which  is  not  a 
song,  but  a  recitative  song  of  a  nobler  and  higher 
order  than  the  popular  song ;  which  does  not  sever  nor 
maim  the  words,  nor  deprive  them  of  life,  but  gives 
new  force  and  vigour  to  both.     ,      .      ." 

Mrs.  Wodehouse  says  that  Giulio  Caccini  created 
"an  epoch  in  musical  history"  when  he  published  his 
"Madrigali,  Canzoni,  and  Arie," — for  one  voice.  In- 
deed the  world  has  almost  forgotten  that  it  was  not 
Caccini  who  was  "the  father  of  the  new  kind  of  song." 
This  is  but  one  of  a  thousand  cases  in  musical  history 
in  which  one  man  supplies  the  thought  and  another  the 
act. 

Caccini  was  a  genuine  and  forceful  musician,  though 
his  counterpoint,  owing  to  carelessness  in  study,  was 
often  not  very  sound.  His  songs  are  full  of  the  vigour 
and  freshness  of  a  really  fine  imagination,  and  show  a 
fund  of  versatile  invention.  He  was  a  man  whose  per- 
sonality entered  strongly  into  his  work.  He  filled  his 
airs  with  such  directions  as:    "Esclamazione  spiritosa 


220  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

(spiritedly  exclamatory)," — "Senza  mesura,  quasi 
favellando,  in  arnionia  con  la  suddetta  sprezzatura 
(Without  keeping  the  time,  and  as  if  speaking  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  already  expressed  disdain)," — etc., 
besides  constant  minor  marks  of  expression.  He  also 
gave  explicit  directions  in  his  preface  as  to  the  sing- 
ing of  every  song.  Having  a  particularly  beautiful 
voice,  he  much  preferred,  if  possible,  to  sing  his  airs 
himself,  and  did  so  very  often,  accompanying  himself 
upon  the  theorbo,  in  the  playing  of  which  he  had 
been  perfectly  trained  by  Scipione  della  Palla. 

This  instrument,  by  the  bye,  requires  a  word  of 
mention.  It  has  a  variety  of  names, — tiorba,  tuorba, 
and  archiliuto,  and,  technically  speaking,  is  a  large, 
double-necked  lute  with  two  sets  of  tuning  pegs.  It 
was  dearly  loved  by  sixteenth  century  musicians,  and  is 
supposed  to  have  a  peculiarly  sweet  and  plaintive  tone. 
What  it  looks  like  is  a  goose  with  a  crick  in  its  neck. 

Who  Caccini  married  we  do  not  know,  but  his  daugh- 
ter Francesca  was  a  famous  singer  and  an  able  com- 
poser as  well.  He  educated  her  himself  for  a  musical 
career,  and  it  was  his  boast  that  she  was  "a  finished 
cantatrice  at  nineteen !" 

When  Caccini  set  Bardi's  "Apollino"  to  music  in 
1589,  he  was  assisted  by  the  eminent  madrigalist,  Luca 
Marenzio,  who  by  this  time  had  become  one  of  the 
Alterati.  The  story  of  this  brilliant  man  is  a  sad  one 
in  spite  of  being  full  of  the  records  of  public  triumphs. 


THE  CASKET  OF  GRAPES         221 

He  was  born  in  1560,  in  the  little  village  of  Coc- 
caglia,  which  lies  between  Brescia  and  Bergamo.  The 
natives  of  these  two  large  towns  have  waged  a  prett}' 
word-war  over  his  memory, — each  side  claiming  him 
to  belong  rightfully  to  its  own  township.  Out  of  the 
confusion  of  conflicting  data  brought  up  by  the  op- 
posing contingents  a  fairly  complete  history  has  been 
rescued, — though  accuracy  in  regard  to  the  sixteenth 
century  Italian  composers  is  a  synonym  for  impossi- 
bility. 

His  family  is  reported  to  have  been  of  old  Bergamese 
stock,  but  extremely  poor,  so  poor  that  Luca  was 
practically  supported  and  educated  by  Fra  Andrea 
Masetto,  the  village  priest  of  Coccaglia. 

The  boy  studied  under  Giovanni  Contini,  the  organ- 
ist of  the  Cathedral  in  Brescia,  and  while  very  young 
began  to  compose. 

Ottavio  Rossi,  in  his  description  of  Marenzio's  child- 
hood and  early  surroundings,  expresses  the  belief  that 
these  youthful  associations  did  much  to  form  the  taste 
for  the  pastoral,  simple  and  sweet,  which  characterised 
the  compositions  of  his  later  years. 

Whoever  heard  IMarenzio  play  his  melodies  adored 
him,  invariably,  and,  after  having  been  aided  and  hon- 
oured by  many  influential  nobles  of  his  own  land,  the 
young  madrigalist  was  appointed  Master  of  the  Royal 
Music  at  the  Court  of  Poland.  The  Polish  Queen, 
consort  of  Sigismund  HI.,  was  one  of  the  most  enthu- 


^22  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

siastic  admirers  of  Marenzio's  music,  and  a  genuine 
friendship  seems  to  have  existed  between  the  two. 

But  Poland  is  not  Italy,  and  Marenzio  was  a  fragile 
being,  composed  chiefly  of  nerves  and  imagination. 
The  Court  Physicians  warned  him  that  he  would  die 
unless  he  left  the  chill  winds  of  the  North.  So  he  left 
the  gracious  King  and  Queen  and  journeyed  home  to 
Italy,  there  to  be  honoured,  and  feted,  and  copied, 
and  bored,  and  made  much  of,  to  a  wonderful  degree. 
It  was  at  this  time  that  the  Alterati  opened  their 
doors  and  their  wine-casks  to  him,  and  that  he 
wrote  the  madrigals  for  the  "Apollino"  of  Caccini  and 
Bardi. 

One  of  Marenzio's  closest  friends  was  the  great 
Cardinal  Cintio  Aldobrandino,  the  nephew  of  Pope 
Clement  VIII.  His  Eminence  vied  with  the  public  in 
honouring  the  young  musician,  who  obtained  a  posi- 
tion as  musician  in  the  Papal  Chapel. 

Just  who  the  mysterious  lady  was  whom  Marenzio 
loved  we  do  not  know.  Henry  Peacham,  in  "The  Com- 
pleat  Gentleman,"  says  that  she  was  the  Holy 
Father's  kinswoman,  and  incidentally  "one  of  the 
rarest  women  in  Europe  for  her  voice  and  the  lute." 
But  we  have  no  very  definite  information  upon  which 
to  base  conjecture.  There  is  a  story  that  the  Queen 
of  Poland,  having  heard  of  the  lady's  musical  fame, 
sent  word  to  Marenzio  asking  him  to  bring  her  to  the 
Polish  Court.     There  are  also  other  tales  of  a  like 


THE  CASKET  OF  GRAPES         223 

nature  concerning  her,  but  one  and  all  are  vague  and 
problematical.  Marcnzio  retained  his  appointment  in 
the  Papal  Chapel  until  his  death,  and  the  Pope  was 
unfailingly  gracious  to  him  save  in  one  respect :  he 
would  not  give  his  consent  to  his  kinswoman's  marriage 
with  the  young  musician.  This  sorrow  is  said  to  have 
broken  Marenzio's  heart  and  spirit,  and  soon  after- 
ward he  died. 

John  Dowland,  the  English  lutinist  who  met  him 
once  or  twice,  declares  frankly  that  he  "could  not  dis- 
semble the  great  content  he  had  found  in  the  proffered 
amity  of  the  most  famous  Luca  Marenzio."  And  in- 
deed he  was  almost  universally  loved  and  admired. 
Henry  Peacham  gives  this  description  hearing  him 
play  his  compositions: 

"For  delicious  aires  and  sweete  Invention  in  Madri- 
gals, Luca  Marenzio  excelleth  all  other  whatsoever: 
and  to  say  truth  hath  not  an  ill  Song.  .  .  .  His 
first,  second  and  third  parts  of  Thy r sis,  Veggo  dolce 
mio  ben  che  foe  hoggi  mio  Sole  Cantava,  or  Sweete 
Singing  Amaryllis,  are  Songs  the  Muses  themselves 
might  not  have  been  ashamed  to  have  had  com- 
posed.     .      .      ." 

Peacham  also  gives  us  this  picture  of  the  great 
madrigal-writer:  "Of  stature  and  complexion,  he  was 
a  little  and  blacke  man." 

Peacham  declares  that  the  Pope's  displeasure  over 
Marenzio's    love    for    the    mysterious  kinswoman  so 


224  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

wrought  upon  the  musician's  feelings  that  "hee  tooke 
a  conceipt  and  died." 

And  so  we  come  to  the  greatest  genius  who  ever 
joined  the  Alterati,  Giocomo  Peri. 

He  was  a  Florentine,  and  though  for  some  reason 
he  does  not  appear  to  have  been  one  of  the  original 
band  of  Thirsters,  he  grew  to  be  closely  associated  with 
the  Casket  of  Grapes  and  its  votaries.  The  exact  date 
of  this  celebrated  composer's  birth  is  not  known,  but 
as  it  was  during  the  last  part  of  the  sixteenth  century 
he  must  have  been  a  very  young  man  still  when  he 
joined  the  Alterati. 

His  comrades  were  devoted  to  him.  They  called 
him  "II  Zazzerino  (the  Short-Haired  One)"  by  way 
of  an  affectionate  jest,  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
had  an  enormous  amount  of  hair,  of  a  vivid  yellow, 
which  shone  like  a  nimbus  about  his  face. 

He  had  studied  music  under  Cristoforo  Malnezzi,  of 
Lucca,  but,  like  Caccini,  had  never  taken  the  pains  to 
complete  his  artistic  education  with  any  degree  of 
thoroughness.  His  music  was  of  an  order,  however, 
which  did  not  require  cultivation.  It  sprang,  in- 
spirationally,  from  the  inexhaustible  source  of  pure 
genius. 

For  a  time  he  was  Maestro  di  Capella  to  Duke  Fer- 
nando, and  later  to  the  great  Cosimo.  He  married 
a  daughter  of  the  Casa  Fortuni,  and  became  a  social, 
as  well  as  an  artistic,  power. 


THE  CASKET  OF  GRAPES         S25 

His  son  was  a  constant  trial  and  anxiety  to  Peri. 
He  was  sent  in  after  years  to  Galileo  Galilei,  our 
Galilei's  illustrious  son,  to  be  educated,  and  succeeded 
in  causing  his  master  the  greatest  possible  trouble. 
So  violent  and  so  vicious  was  this  youth  that  Galileo 
invariably  called  him,  despairingly,  "My  Daemon 
Peri !" 

Giocomo  Peri  is  often  called  the  "Father  of  Opera." 
It  is  certain  that  when  he  set  Rinuccini's  "Dafne"  to 
music,  he  wrote  the  heading  to  a  new  chapter  in  musical 
history.  He  and  Rinuccini  collaborated  once  more 
upon  the  famous  "Eur^'dice,"  which  was  performed  at 
the  wedding  festivities  of  Marie  de  Medici  and  Henri 
IV.,  and  had  so  vast  an  influence  upon  French  music. 
It  is  said  that  Caccini,  too,  had  a  hand  in  the  com- 
position of  this  celebrated  opera,  which,  strange  as 
it  seems,  was  the  precursor  of  the  modern  music 
drama ! 

Operatic  work  was  now  the  object  of  all  the  enthu- 
siasm of  the  Altcrati.  Emilio  del  Cavaliere,  while  he 
distinguished  himself  by  no  immortal  works  in  this  line, 
wrote  exquisite  music  for  pastoral  plays.  These  were 
written  for  him  by  Laura  Guidiccioni,  and  between 
them  they  evolved  some  delightful  work. 

The  Alterati  had  two  guiding  stars,  we  understand ; 
— one  a  serious-minded  planet,  the  other  something  of 
a  comet.  The  first  was  La  Guidiccioni,  who  came  of  a 
family  in  Lucca  famed  for  its  literary  achievements. 


^^6  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

She  wrote  excellent  poetry,  we  are  told,  and  did  much 
to  promote  art  and  letters  in  Tuscany. 

And  then — there  was  Euterpe! — Euterpe,  the  bril- 
liant, the  wonderful,  the  gifted,  and  the  adored !  Was 
she  not  acknowledged  by  even  the  dullest  Florentine 
to  be  a  great  artist?  And  was  not  II  Zazzerino 
transported  by  joy  when  he  showed  her  the  score  of 
"Eurydice,"  and  she  approved  of  the  work  ? 

Her  name  was  Vittoria  Archilei,  and  she  was  a 
Florentine  singer.  But  to  the  Alterati  she  was  always 
Euterpe:  Euterpe, the  Muse,  the  "Well-Pleasing  One,'* 
the  patroness  of  flute-players  and  revellers,  the  fol- 
lower of  Apollo  and  of  Bacchus,  she  who  is  ever  pic- 
tured crowned  with  flowers,  and  holding  a  flute  or  lyre. 

"Euterpe"  was  a  fitting  goddess  for  the  Thirsters, 
and  Peri  was  not  the  only  one  who  hung  upon  her 
censure  or  praise. 

As  seen  across  the  gulf  of  over  three  hundred  years, 
they  seem  a  wonderfully  lovable  band, — these  young 
Florentines  of  the  Casket  of  Grapes.  If  they  were  a 
bit  iconoclastic  in  their  theories  and  impetuous  in  their 
practices,  at  least  they  possessed  that  fire  which  kindles 
nations,  devours  prejudice,  warms  art,  and  lights  the 
path  of  progress :  the  fire  of  Euthusiasm. 

The  Alterati  existed  for  many  years.  When  Bardi 
was  called  to  Rome  by  Pope  Clement  VIII.  to  become 
his  Maestro  di  Camera,  the  Thirsters  met  at  the 
Palazzo  Corsi.     There  we  lose  sight  of  them  and  do 


THE  CASKET  OF  GRAPES         S27 

not  know  the  processes  by  which,  as  the  ^cars  went 
by,  the  band  was  slowly  dissolved.  After  all,  their 
work  had  been  done.  The  New  Music  was  no  longer 
a  dream  in  the  brains  of  a  few  madcap  dilettanti,  but 
a  definite  and  acknowledged  element  in  universal  art. 
Consider  well  what  it  was  that  the}^  did, — those  men 
back  there  among  the  glimmering  liglits  and  blurring 
shadows  of  the  past.  They  established  jNIonodic 
Song ;  they  instituted  harmony  between  music  and 
words ;  they  galvanised  the  old  Church  forms  into 
spiritual  life ;  and  they  founded  the  Opera. 

Salve,  oh,  Casket  of  Grapes !  You  are  the  symbol 
of  the  abundant  wine  of  inspiration  and  enthusiasm 
which  the  Alterati  of  Florence  poured  into  the  music 
of  the  world. 


THE    SCULLION    OF 
LA    GRANDE    MADEMOISELLE 


SONG  OF  THE  SHEPHERDESS 
IN    "ARMIDE" 


i 


¥ 


±: 


Less       a     -     maz    -    ing  'twould   be         If        the 


i 


:^^*    r.*    '    ^ 


Spring  in    its  =plen  dor  Shoiild  bring  no  flow'rs,  nor  breezes  to 


g 


w 


^^^TT- 


fra  -  grant  -  ly    move, 


1 '— — 

Tian    if     these    the    best 


^ 


:±=:^ 


of      our     lives    and    most        ten    -    dtr, 


i 


iz^i 


W 


*  m 


aiiould  be       bare        of       joy     and       of        love! 


XII 


THE    SCULLION    OF 
LA    GRANDE    MADEMOISELLE 


t^ 


IF  the  Chevalier  de  Guise  had  not  made  a  half-jesting 
promise  to  Mademoiselle,  when  calling  upon  her  at 
the  Orleans  Palace  just  before  his  departure  for  Italy, 
the  history  of  music  would  be  different. 

Neither  he,  very  debonnair  and  gallant,  nor  she, 
very  young  and  wayward  and  spoiled,  had  the  slight- 
est intention  of  thus  affecting  the  development  of  art. 
Mademoiselle  was  bored  by  herself  and  the  world. 
At  the  moment  few  opportunities  for  spectacular 
escapades  seemed  open  to  her. 

She  heard  M.  le  Chevalier's  remarks  on  the  subject 
of  his  prospective  trip  through  Italy  with  the  restless- 
ness of  a  child.  Doubtless  the  thought  of  such  des- 
ultory and  untrammelled  journeying  appealed  to  the 
vagabond  in  her  nature,  and  made  her  hate  her  be- 
loved Paris  for  the  moment. 

When,  in  taking  leave  of  her,  he  asked,  between  a 
smile  and  an  obeiiiance,  if  he  nu'giit  bring  her  souk- 
thing  from  Italy,  she  answered,  with  a  sudden  idle 
impulse : 


232  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

"Oui :  Je  veux  un  joli  petit  Italien !  (Yes ;  I  should 
like  a  pretty  little  Italian  boy!)" 

The  Chevalier  laughed,  bowed  low  once  more,  and 
assured  her  that  he  would  not  forget  her  commands. 

Then  he  went  his  way ;  and  Mademoiselle  forgot 
all  about  it  straightway.  But  the  pebble  had  been 
thrown  into  the  pool,  and  a  new  chapter  in  music  had 
been  begun. 

Twelve  years  before,  in  1633,  Giovanni  Battista 
de'  Lulli  had  been  born.  His  father,  Lorenzo  de' 
Lulli,  was  the  son  of  an  old  and  honour- 
able Florentine  family,  the  fortunes  of  which  had 
fallen  to  a  low  ebb.  Of  his  mother  we  have  little  in- 
formation beyond  her  name,  which  seems  to  indicate 
noble  birth,  Caterina  del  Serta.  They  lived  just  out- 
side Florence,  and  it  was  there  that  Giovanni's  earliest, 
though  only  his  earliest,  childhood  was  passed.  Doubt- 
less his  parents  dreamed  that  he  would  grow  up  to  be 
a  Florentine  gentleman  like  Messer  Lorenzo.  But  it 
was  written  that,  twelve  years  later,  he  should  abandon 
his  Italian  birthplace  and  his  Italian  name,  and  attach 
himself  to  the  fortunes  of  a  new  land. 

Giovanni  Battista  apparently  was  possessed  of  some 
demon  of  unrighteousness.  From  the  beginning  of  his 
childhood  he  established  records  for  mischief  and  imp- 
ishness  which  were  remarkable  even  for  a  Latin  child. 
He  was  irresistibly  quaint  and  charming,  and  attracted 
all  who  saw  him,  but  he  was  a  source  of  perpetual  anx- 


LA  GRANDE  MADEMOISELLE      233 

ietj  to  the  Lulli  pair,  who  had  lurid  visions  of  a  career 
of  crime  stretching  before  their  son. 

There  seemed  to  be  only  one  thing  which  Giovanni 
Battista  loved  better  than  mischief,  naughtiness  and 
disobedience :  that  was  music.  His  ear  was  exception- 
ally fine  and  keen,  and  even  as  a  tiny  boy  he  had  the 
artist's  sense.  He  would  become  docile  and  good  at 
once,  the  moment  that  some  vagrant  ballad-singer 
passed  by,  singing  his  soft  old  Italian  songs.  And  as 
he  himself  had  a  sweet  and  flexible  voice  he  was  forever 
humming  over  the  airs  that  he  heard.  There  was  a 
door  into  his  queer  perverse  heart,  and,  though  it  stood 
fast  closed  and  locked  as  a  rule,  its  key  from  his  birth 
to  his  death  was  music. 

One  day  a  certain  old  Franciscan  monk  noticed  the 
child,  and  was  charmed  by  his  merry  face  and  eager 
eyes,  his  grace  and  his  delightful  voice.  He  talked 
with  Giovanni  Battista  several  times,  and  discovered 
the  boy's  passion  for  music.  Like  most  monks  of  the 
old  days,  the  old  man  knew  the  essential  foundations 
of  music,  and  he  determined  that  this  brilliant,  if  self- 
willed  child  should  have  the  benefit  of  such  knowledge 
as  was  his. 

He  began  to  teach  Giovanni  Battista  the  a  b  c  of 
music,  and  taught  him  to  play  not  only  the  violin  but 
also  that  extremely  secular  instrument,  the  guitar. 
Giovanni  Battista  learned  everything  with  the  rapidity 
of  a  shooting  star.    He  soon  acquired  all  the  rudimen- 


234  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

tary  musical  education  which  his  master  was  able  to 
give,  and  thirsted  for  more.  He  learned  to  play  the 
guitar  and  violin  with  the  skill  of  a  prodigy,  and  to 
sing  like  a  veritable  bird. 

The  pictui'e,  as  we  view  it  in  fancy,  is  a  quaint  one : 
the  old  Franciscan  in  habit  and  cowl,  with  rosary  and 
girdle  and  crucifix,  and  the  enthusiastic,  bright-eyed 
child;  both  bending  over  the  monk's  old  guitar  as  he 
teaches  Giovanni  how  to  play  an  accompaniment  for 
a  love-song  which  they  have  heard  recently  in  the 
Florentine  streets. 

The  guitar, — forever  associated  with  scenes  of 
merry-making  or  with  moonlit  serenades, — how  did  he 
happen  to  know  it  so  well,  that  old  Franciscan  monk? 
From  this  early  chapter  in  our  young  composer's  life 
comes  a  breath  of  secret  and  fugitive  romance  that 
tempts  one  to  speculation.  Certainly  he  was  a  delight- 
ful and  a  baffling  being,  this  aged  Brother  who  knew 
so  marvellously  well  how  to  play  the  guitar ! 

When  Giovanni  Battista  was  not  quite  thirteen  came 
the  beginning  of  his  really  remarkable  career. 

He  was  basking  in  the  warmth  of  the  Italian  sun  one 
day  and  singing  to  himself.  Perhaps  he  was  even 
then  in  some  dream-world,  brilliant  and  beautiful,  where 
he  was  to  make  songs  and  sing  them,  forever  and  ever. 
His  voice,  fresh  and  boyish,  but  excellently  trained, 
thanks  to  the  diligence  of  the  monk,  was  remarkable 
enough  to  attract  the  attention  of  a  passer-by.     So  it 


LA  GRANDE  MADEMOISELLE     235 

came  about  that  into  the  vague  gorgeousness  of  Gio- 
vanni Battista's  day-dream  stepped  suddenly  a  per- 
sonage who  seemed  a  part  of  it.  Giovanni  Battista 
thought  confusedly  that  he  looked  like  a  courtier  or  a 
king  or  some  such  exalted  creature  :he  had  servants  and 
fine  clothes,  and  a  general  atmosphere  of  grandeur, 
and  he  had  positively  stopped  to  speak  to  him, — him, 
Giovanni  Battista,  curled  up  in  the  sun  like  a  little 
yellow-brown,  purring  kitten ! 

The  Chevalier  de  Guise  had  not  forgotten  that 
casual  promise  to  Mademoiselle  in  Paris,  and  was  still 
looking  for  her  "petit  Italien."  Giovanni  Battista's 
expressive  face  attracted  him  at  once,  and  his  voice, — 
it  was  a  delight !  Here  surely  was  the  very  child  for 
Mademoiselle.  He  had  grace,  and  a  personality,  and 
he  could  sing ;  he  would  make  an  ideal  page. 

A  few  questions  elicited  the  information  that  the 
boy  could  also  play  upon  the  violin  and  guitar,  and 
likewise  showed  him  to  have  a  gay  wit  and  very  pretty 
manners.  Enchanted  with  the  little  fellow,  the  Cheva- 
lier wasted  no  more  time  on  preliminaries  but  asked 
him,  suddenly,  if  he  would  go  back  with  him  to  France, 
to  be  the  page  of  a  beautiful  Princess. 

Giovanni  Battista  wasted  as  little  time  as  the  Cheva- 
lier, and,  with  a  glow  of  excitement  and  delight  in 
his  handsome  eyes,  cried  "yes !" 

Messcr  de'  Lulli  and  Madonna  Caterina  were  visited 
by  the  Frenchman  at  once.     He  convinced  them  of  the 


236  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

great  honour  it  would  be  for  their  son  to  be  taken  into 
the  service  of  the  Duchesse  de  Montpensier,  and 
painted  the  prospective  position  in  glowing  colours. 
It  did  indeed  seem  a  most  wonderful  opportunity,  and 
they  bade  farewell  to  Giovanni  Battista,  They  wept 
in  doing  so,  in  spite  of  the  trouble  which  he  had  given 
them  ever  since  he  was  old  enough  to  play  pranks,  but 
Giovanni  Battista,  whose  heart  was  flint,  ice  and  steel 
combined,  except  toward  his  music,  knew  no  shadow  of 
regret  in  leaving  his  parents  and  Italy.  His  brain 
was  full  of  sparkling  pictures  of  Paris,  of  the  great 
lady  he  was  to  serve,  and  the  many  wonderful  and  in- 
teresting things  which  he  was  to  see  and  do.  Almost 
immediately  he  departed  for  France  with  Guise,  and 
sang  for  joy  as  he  went.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  even  re- 
membered to  say  good-bye  to  the  old  Franciscan  monk, 
— who,  left  behind,  was  obliged  perforce  to  play  upon 
his  battered  guitar  alone. 

When  they  reached  Paris  the  boy  was  no  longer 
called  Giovanni  Battista  de'  Lulli,  but  Jean  Baptiste 
Lully ;  and  so  ended  the  first  chapter  of  his  life. 

The  second  began  with  his  presentation  to  Made- 
moiselle. 

She  happened  to  be  in  a  furiously  bad  temper  when 
the  Chevalier  de  Guise  arrived,  smiling  and  non- 
chalant, accompanied  by  Baptiste, — as  he  was  now 
called. 

Guise  reminded  her  of  her  command  and  his  prom- 


LA  GRANDE  MADEMOISELLE     237 

ise,  and,  with  mock  solemnity,  presented  her  with  his 
offering :  the  little  Italian  boy  she  had  asked  for. 

Mademoiselle  looked  at  them  both.  She  was  very 
young  then, — barely  nineteen,  and  only  six  years  older 
than  Baptiste.  He  gazed  at  her  with  a  child's  open- 
eyed  admiration  and  wonder,  thinking  her  the  most 
brilliant  being  he  had  ever  imagined, — and  the  most 
marvellously  dressed. 

"Ah,  bah !"  said  Mademoiselle,  with  a  flash  and  a 
frown,  "I  said  a  pretty  Italian  boy  !     Take  him  away." 

The  Chevalier  retired,  crestfallen,  with  Baptiste, 
only  to  be  recalled  by  ^Mademoiselle,  who  ordered  that 
the  boy  be  sent  to  the  palace  kitchen.  He  was  not 
prett}'  enough  for  a  page,  she  declared,  but  would 
do  very  well  as  a  marmiton  (scullion)  ! 

A  servant  led  him  away  from  the  presence  of  his 
august  3'oung  mistress,  and  instructed  him  in  his  duties 
as  marmiton  under  Mademoiselle's  cooks.  Baptiste 
was  very  silent  and  seemingl}'  quite  impassive.  But 
in  his  small  heart,  torn  with  disappointment,  bruised 
by  humiliation,  and  burning  with  rage,  began  that 
hour  a  profound  and  bitter  hatred  of  ^Mademoiselle, 
which  never  departed  nor  lessened  during  all  the  days 
of  his  life.  Yet,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  his  mistress  was 
unworthy  of  his  violent  detestation,  and  had  many 
generous  and  fine  qualities,  in  spite  of  her  quick  tem- 
per, despotic  tendency,  and  countless  perversities. 

Anne  Marie  Louise  d'Orleans,  Duchesse  de  Mont- 


238  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

pensier,  known  to  France  and  history  as  La  Grande 
Mademoiselle,  was  a  strange  being.  She  was  a 
daughter  of  Gaston  d'Orleans  and  the  Duchesse  de 
Montpensier,  a  granddaughter  of  Henri  IV.  and 
Marie  de'  Medici,  and  a  cousin  of  Louis  XIV.  She 
was  a  creature  of  violent  moods  and  a  giant  self-will, 
and  was  by  nature  an  adventuress  and  a  great  lady  in 
one. 

IVIademoiselle  it  was  who  took  part  in  the  Fronde, 
headed  troops,  scaled  the  walls  of  Orleans  on  a  ladder, 
and  saved  Conde's  defeated  men,  after  the  Saint- An- 
toine  battle,  by  opening  the  gates  of  Paris,  and  cover- 
ing the  route  of  their  flight  with  the  cannons  of  the 
Bastille ! 

She  was  so  great,  so  stupendously  rich,  and  so  very 
close  to  royalty  that,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  she 
was  a  queen  in  her  own  right.  Since  no  one  dared  to 
gainsay  her  will,  she  rode  supreme  above  every  conven- 
tion of  her  time,  and  presented  history  with  that  amaz- 
ing paradox,  a  Princess  who  did  what  she  chose. 
She  contrived  to  create  a  large  amount  of  trouble 
during  her  career,  as  was  the  inevitable  outcome  of 
an  exalted  position  and  an  ungovernable  nature. 

"The  beginning  of  the  misfortunes  of  my  house," 
she  declares  in  her  remarkable  "INIemoires," — "fol- 
lowed closely  upon  my  birth !" 

This  madcap  girl-duchess,  then,  whom  high  and 
low  called  by  the  simple  title  of  Mademoiselle,  was  the 


LA  GRANDE  MADEMOISELLE     239 

mistress  of  the  Orleans  palace  where  Battiste  Lully 
was  scullion. 

A  marmiton's  position  was  one  with  small  honour 
accruing  to  it.  If  to  be  a  scullion  in  Mademoiselle's 
kitchen  was  not  quite  so  contemptible  as  to  be  one  in 
less  exalted  households,  it  nevertheless  was  a  condition 
quite  without  dignity,  however  one  might  look  at  it. 
A  scullion  was  called  a  ^^galopin,"  which  may  be  trans- 
lated as  "errand  boy,"  or  "scamp,"  but,  as  it  generally 
was  used  as  a  term  of  opprobrium,  was  apt  to  mean 
the  latter, 

Radet  calls  Lully  "one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
types  of  the  successful  adventurer  that  ever  lived." 
Perhaps  one  of  the  elements  of  his  success  lay  in  his 
ability  to  adapt  himself  to  his  adventures,  as  well  as 
his  unerring  perception  of  opportunities.  Lully  never 
willingly  wasted  one  moment  in  a  manner  which  was 
not  moderately  certain  to  bring  him  in  some  sort  of 
dividend.  His  pride,  while  quickly  injured  and  secretly 
implacable,  never  stood  in  the  way  of  his  advantages. 
Therefore  it  was  characteristic  that  he  should  accept 
the  position  of  galopin  with  inner  rage  but  apparent 
cheerfulness.  Sometimes  patient  fortitude  and  ex- 
pedient hypocrisy  look  very  much  alike  on  the  out- 
side. 

Battiste  was  a  born  actor,  and  when  he  had  grasped 
his  own  situation,  he  spent  no  strength  in  rebellion,  but 
began  to  play  his  role  in  all  consistency. 


MO  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

He  was  an  admirable  galopin  truly,  and  his  fellow 
servants  found  him  most  merry  and  companionable. 
He  became  an  immense  favourite  and  kept  the  entire 
kitchen  amused  by  his  fun,  and  by  his  singing  of  his 
sweet  Florentine  songs.  He  also  learned  the  street- 
ballads  of  Paris,  and  sang  them  very  effectively  and 
with  the  French  spirit,  which  it  had  been  an  easy  mat- 
ter for  him  to  acquire. 

Time  passed,  and  still  he  remained  a  scullion,  and 
still  he  waited  for  some  opportunity  to  arise.  He  had 
the  optimism  and  the  courage  of  the  true  adventurer, 
even  at  that  early  age,  and  felt  firmly  confident  that 
his  luck  would  change  some  day.  And  change  it  did, 
in  such  a  fashion  and  to  such  an  extent  that,  in  look- 
ing back  over  musical  history,  we  can  find  no  parallel 
example  of  similarly  brilliant  success  and  good  for- 
tune. 

In  some  way  Baptiste  obtained  a  violin.  It  was 
an  unusually  bad  one,  of  cheap  make  and  wretched 
tone,  but  it  was  a  violin,  and  therefore  Baptiste  loved 
it.  He  played  upon  it  in  every  spare  moment,  and, 
through  much  practice,  improved  steadily  in  his  exe- 
cution. 

In  a  corner  of  the  great  kitchen,  the  air  filled  with 
the  clatter  of  pots,  the  steam  from  boiling  stews,  and 
the  smells  of  herbs  and  spices,  a  small  slight  figure 
might  be  seen :  a  boy  playing  softly  to  himself  upon  an 
execrable  violin. 


LA  GRANDE  MADEMOISELLE     241 

All  manner  of  delicious  fancies  danced  before  his 
eyes, — faint,  fleeting  memories  of  the  blue  sky  over 
Florence,  the  street -ballads,  and  the  flowers ;  his  father 
and  mother,  his  home, — the  scene  of  a  thousand  child- 
ish pranks, — and  the  old  Franciscan  monk  playing  his 
guitar.  .  .  .  Then  dreams  of  coming  days,  when 
he  should  be  rich  and  famous,  and  men  should  bow 
down  before  him  instead  of  ordering  him  about.  The 
violin  music  would  quiver  to  a  bare  thread.  The  boy's 
eyes,  big  and  dancing,  would  fix  themselves  upon  the 
Future. 

An  angry  call  from  the  awe-inspiring  head-cook. 
The  banquet  of  Mademoiselle  would  soon  have  to  be 
served:  where  was  that  galopin?  "Baptiste!  Bap- 
tiste !" 

Down  would  go  the  violin,  and  away  would  go  the 
dreams,  and  Baptiste,  the  scullion,  would  hasten  to 
turn  a  spit,  or  bear  a  great  dish  to  some  impatient 
attendant. 

Now  it  happened  that  the  Comte  de  Nogent,  a 
French  noble  who  greatly  admired  Mademoiselle,  once 
passed  near  enough  Her  Highness's  kitchen  to  hear  a 
faint  echo  of  music.  He  stopped,  listening  to  the 
elusive  melody,  and  then  made  his  way  toward  the 
sound.  He  had  an  unusually  keen  car  and  a  good 
taste  in  music,  and  he  thought  that  he  recognised  a 
master-hand. 

When,  to  his  questions  he  was  told, — "Oh,  it  is  only 


242  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Baptiste,  the  galopin!"  he  was  more  interested  than 
before.  He  lost  no  time  in  telling  Mademoiselle  of  the 
genius  buried  among  the  pots  and  pans  of  her  kitchen. 
The  Duchesse  promptly  summoned  Baptiste,  and,  be- 
ing as  quick  in  her  kind  impulses  as  she  was  with  her 
unkind,  she  promoted  him  from  the  position  of  a  scul- 
lion to  that  of  a  musician  in  her  own  orchestra.  This, 
of  course,  would  have  been  a  high  honour  for  a  much 
older  artist,  and,  after  waiting  and  planning  and  hop- 
ing for  so  long,  Baptiste  could  hardly  believe  that  he 
was  not  still  in  a  day-dream  in  the  noisy,  smoke-filled 
kitchen. 

However,  he  had  seen  the  last  of  the  kitchen,  and  of 
his  wretched  little  violin.  As  one  of  Mademoiselle's 
violinists  he  had  a  good  instrument,  and,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  a  musical  atmosphere.  Thus  did  he 
enter  upon  his  third  chapter. 

He  became  Mademoiselle's  especial  favourite,  and 
often  was  singled  out  from  the  rest  to  play  and  sing 
for  her  alone.  She  grew  to  like  the  boy  immensely, 
and  was  very  kind  to  him.  But  Baptiste  had  not  for- 
gotten her  first  reception  of  him:  "I  said  a  yretty 
Italian  boy !"  Nor  had  he  forgiven  her  for  it.  So 
he  remained  as  hostile  inwardly  as  he  was  ingratiat- 
ing and  devoted  outwardly. 

He  had  a  peculiarly  quick  and  timely  wit,  and  a  de- 
cided poetical  gift,  and  often  made  comic  songs  for 
the  entertainment  of  Mademoiselle's  household.     This 


LA  GRANDE  MADEMOISELLE     243 

ability  of  his  was  the  eventual  cause  of  his  dismissal 
from  the  Orleans  palace. 

It  happened  one  day  that  Lully  composed  a  song 
of  particularly  clever  words  and  infectious  melody. 
For  good  reasons  he  did  not  sing  it  to  Mademoiselle, 
but  he  did  to  every  one  else  in  the  palace.  It  was 
laughed  at,  whispered  over,  and  surreptitiously 
hummed  by  the  whole  household.  The  musicians,  the 
ladies-in-waiting,  the  courtiers,  the  members  of  the 
guard,  and  the  servants  were  each  and  all  amused  by 
its  wit  and  pleased  by  its  air. 

And  then  came  the  cataclysm ! 

Mademoiselle  came,  quite  unexpectedly,  upon  a 
group  of  delighted  listeners,  with  Lull}'  in  the  centre, 
singing  very  softly  a  verse  of  his  new  song.  Mademoi- 
selle listened  also  for  a  brief  minute,  being  petrified  by 
horror  and  rage.  For  the  song  was  a  satirical  one, 
and  held  up  to  ridicule  no  less  a  person  than  La 
Grande  Mademoiselle  herself ! 

Mademoiselle's  punishments  were  invariably  swift 
and  certain.      Lully  left  the  palace  that  day. 

He  was  still  only  seventeen,  but  his  brilliant  work 
in  Mademoiselle's  Band  of  Musicians  had  won  for  him 
a  certain  degree  of  renown.  With  characteristic 
hardihood  he  presented  himself  at  Versailles  with  a 
petition  that  the  young  King,  Louis  XIV.,  should  give 
him  an  appointment.  Louis  knew  of  him,  and  so  did 
Dumanoir,  the  director  of  the  "Violons  du  Roy."     He 


244  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

was  accordingly  given  a  position  in  this  celebrated 
orchestra,  which  was  composed  of  violins,  violas  and 
basses  to  the  number  of  twenty-four,  and  was  some- 
times called  the  "Quatre-Vingt  Violons  du  Roy." 

So  well  did  Lully  acquit  himself  that  the  King 
founded  for  him  a  second  orchestra,  which  was  called 
"La  Petite  Bande  (The  Little  Band),"  or  "Les  Petits 
Violons  de  sa  Majeste  (His  Majesty's  Little  Violins)." 
And  thus  did  Jean  Baptiste  Lully,  adventurer  and 
musician,  reach  that  sun-illumined  chapter  of  success 
which  was  to  extend  over  the  remainder  of  his  days. 

He  had  the  brains  to  appreciate  that,  gifted  and 
talented  as  he  was,  he  was  not  a  thoroughly  trained 
musician.  Therefore,  as  soon  as  his  place  was  as- 
sured, and  he  was  in  a  position  to  afford  it,  he  began 
a  rigid  course  of  musical  study, — all  the  while  ful- 
filling his  duties  as  Director  of  Les  Petits  Violons. 

His  masters  were  Metru,  Roberdet,  and  Gigault,  all 
musicians  of  note,  and  organists  to  St.  Nicholas-des- 
Champs.  From  them  he  learned  the  laws  of  composi- 
tion, as  well  as  to  play  both  the  organ  and  harpsi- 
chord. 

Gustave  Chouquet  says  that  Lully  devoted  himself 
to  the  interests  of  "la  Petite  Bande"  only  until  he  had 
won  the  position  at  Court  which  he  desired,  and  was 
likely  to  gain  the  title  of  "Surintendant  de  la  Musique 
du  Roy,"  and  that  he  took  no  further  interest  in 
the  Little  Viohns  when  their  usefulness  to  him  had 


LA  GRANDE  MADEMOISELLE     245 

been  exhausted.  "This  point  once  gained,"  saj^s  M. 
Chouquet,  "nothing  further  was  heard  of  the  'Petite 
Bande,'  and  by  the  beginning  of  the  next  reign  it 
had  wholly  disappeared." 

This  element  of  selfishness  in .  Lully's  make-up  is 
recognised  by  everyone  who  has  studied  his  life.  Wil- 
liam H.  Husk  says  that  he  "lost  no  opportunity  of  in- 
gratiating himself  with  men  of  rank,  a  useful  process 
for  which  he  had  a  special  gift." 

From  this  it  may  be  imagined  that  lAilly  was  what 
we  would  term  a  "snob,"  and  that  he  had  a  love  for 
the  titles  and  insignia  of  greatness.  This  deduction 
would  be  quite  inaccurate.  Lull}'  was  gregarious — 
even  democratic, — and  had  a  touch  of  scorn  for 
pomp  and  panoply,  the  scorn  which  artists  and  men 
of  noble  birth  have  in  a  more  marked  degree  than  the 
rest  of  the  world.  It  was  not  from  a  servile  worship 
of  the  trade-marks  of  high  estate  that  he  so  assiduously 
cultivated  the  prominent  nobles  at  Court,  but  from  a 
motive  even  less  admirable.  He  wished  to  secure  every 
possible  advantage  for  his  own  advancement  and  ag- 
grandisement. He  knew  that  in  a  city  like  Paris,  and 
a  Court  like  Louis  le  Grand's,  every  influential  friend 
had  a  value.  And  so  he  talked  and  jested  and  made 
himself  charming  to  every  one,  varying  the  stereotyped 
Court  flattery  by  the  far  cleverer  expedient  of  audac- 

He  made  many  friends, — among  whom  was  Moliere, 


246  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

who  was  very  fond  of  him  and  helped  him  in  several 
ways.  But  his  best  friend  was  the  King.  From  the 
first,  his  influence  over  Louis  was  extraordinary,  and 
it  seemed  that  no  favour  was  too  great  for  the  King  to 
bestow  upon  "his  Baptiste,"  as  he  always  called  him. 

Lully  soon  began  writing  Ballets  as  Pierre  Guedron 
had  done, — Ballets  in  which  both  he  and  the  King 
danced  with  much  success.  Lully  was  a  good  actor, 
as  we  have  seen,  and  appeared  in  several  of  Moliere's 
plays  for  which  he  had  written  the  incidental  music. 
He  began  more  and  more  to  consider  the  possibilities 
and  the  development  of  dramatic  vocal  music.  Theat- 
rical to  his  finger-tips  he  worked  incessantly  to  per- 
fect the  operatic  form. 

This  style  of  composition  had  been  faintly  sketched 
in  the  Ballets  of  Guedron  and  others  of  his  predeces- 
sors, as  well  as  in  the  "musical  plays"  of  Cambert  and 
the  Abbe  Perrin,  both  contemporaries  of  his  own.  But 
it  was  in  the  "Eurydice"  of  Peri  and  other  subsequent 
works  of  the  new  Italian  school  that  he  found  the  real 
germ  which  he  wished  to  bring  to  maturity.  So 
well  did  he  succeed  in  amplifying  and  completing  his 
idea,  that  he  is  known  to-day  as  the  "Father  of  French 
Opera." 

He  is  more  than  this.  Dramatic  or  operatic  music 
has  always  had  its  effect,  either  temporary  or  lasting, 
iipon  the  growth  of  song.  No  one  could  deny  the 
enormous  influence  which  Wagner  has  had  upon  the 


LA  GRANDE  MADEMOISELLE     247 

dramatic  or  descriptive  lyrics  of  modern  times,  and 
just  as  strongly  did  Lully's  operatic  work  colour  the 
subsequent  songs  of  France.  Moreover,  although 
Lully  is  far  from  being  a  song-composer  in  the  strict 
sense,  he  had  to  a  signal  extent  the  gift  which  is  the 
very  essence  and  soul  and  individuality  of  Song, — the 
instinct  for  melody.  The  airs  in  his  operas  are  as 
spontaneous  as  the  most  purely  lyric  folk-songs,  as 
well  as  being  possessed  of  a  finish  which  is  the  prod- 
uct of  musical  cultivation.  The  introduction  of  this 
great  operatic  composer  among  the  song- writers  re- 
quires this  word  of  explanation  to  the  public  at  large. 
But  to  those  who  have  carefull}'  studied  Lully  and 
his  immediate  successors,  the  choice  will  seem  less 
odd.  Fertility  of  melodic  invention,  dramatic  feel- 
ing wedded  to  smooth  rhythmic  forms,  perfect  har- 
mony between  words  and  music,  and  a  lyrical  phras- 
ing most  happily  adapted  to  the  requirements  of  the 
voice — these  are  the  conspicuous  features  of  Lully's 
Soli,  and  also  of  the  compositions  of  every  great  song- 
composer  that  ever  lived. 

Among  Lully's  most  delightful  and  characteristic 
songs  are  "Cruel  Amour  (Alcione),''^  "Sans  Alceste 
(Alceste),''^  "Aimez  Roland  a  Votre  Tour  (Roland),^* 
and  the  "Chanson  dc  la  Bergere"  from  "Armide."  The 
last-named  of  these  is  one  of  the  very  few  entirely  joy- 
ous melodies  ever  written  in  a  minor  key.  It  is  a 
worthy  companion-air  to  Rossini's  "Gia  la  luna."   The 


248  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

words  of  this  Ij'ric  from  "Armide"  are  by  Quinault, 
who  wrote  ahnost  all  of  Lully's  librettos,  and  are  as 
follows : 

"Less  amazing  't  would  be  if  the  spring  in  its  splendour 
Should  bring  no  flow'rs  nor  breezes  to  fragrantly  move, 
Than  if  these,  the  best  days  of  our  lives,  and  most  tender, 
Should  be  bare  of  joy  and  of  love!" 

The  Abbe  Bourdelot  tells  of  a  young  beauty  of 
Louis's  Court  who  went  mad,  like  Ophelia,  on  account 
of  an  unhappy  love-affair.  There  seemed  no  hope 
that  her  sanity  could  ever  be  restored,  until  to  the 
great  Court  Doctor  who  attended  her  came  a  brilliant 
inspiration.  He  selected  a  number  of  the  King's  best 
musicians  and  secreted  them  behind  some  draperies  in 
the  mad  girl's  room  every  night.  There  they  played 
melodies  by  Lully  with  great  sweetness  and  softness, 
until  by  slow  degrees  her  madness  slipped  away  from 
her  on  the  gracious  airs,  and  she  became  cured. 

Lully  was  made  Court  Composer,  "Surintendant  de 
la  Musique  de  la  Chambre,"  and  "Maitre  de  Musique" 
to  the  Royal  family.  He  was  also  ennobled  by  the 
King,  and  enabled  to  restore  the  "de"  of  nobility  to 
his  name. 

When  he  was  twent37-nine  he  married  Madeline 
Lambert,  daughter  of  the  singer  Lambert.  She 
brought  him  an  ample  dowry,  and,  being  a  very  frugal 
person,  succeeded  in  helping  him  to  save  and  economise 
until  he  owned  an  enormous  fortune. 


LA  GRANDE  MADEMOISELLE     2rt9 

Lully  was  both  ambitious  and  avaricious,  and,  as 
Husk  says,  "he  possessed  neither  honour  nor  morals." 
Whoever  thwarted  him  was  bound  to  go  under,  and, 
if  he  never  forgot  a  shglit,  he  also  never  took  the 
trouble  to  remember  a  kindness.  He  did  not  know  the 
meaning  of  the  word  loyaltj-,  and  considered  generosity 
but  a  form  of  investment. 

When  he  was  temporarily  in  pecuniary  straits, 
IVIoliere  advanced  him  a  large  sum  of  money.  Yet  in 
after  years  Lully  treated  ^Nloliere  with  a  complete  lack 
of  gratitude  and  considcivation. 

Probably  he  was  guilty  of  the  most  underhand  per- 
formance of  his  career  when  he  stole  from  the  Abbe 
Perrin  and  Cambert  their  theatre-patent.  They,  with 
Henri  Guichard,  the  librettist,  and  some  artistic  noble- 
men who  were  willing  to  back  the  enterprise  financially, 
had  laid  brilliant  plans  for  the  art  work  which  they 
would  accomplish  in  this  theatre.  Lully  feared  that 
they  would  interfere  with  his  success,  and  determined 
that  not  only  should  they  not  have  the  theatre  but  that 

he  would. 

He  went  to  Madame  de  Montcspan  and  induced  her 
to  get  from  the  King  the  transfer  of  the  theatre- 
license  from  Perrin  to  himself.  With  de  INIontespan 
and  Lully  bringing  all  their  influence  to  bear,  the  King 
agreed  with  small  demur,  and  the  theatre,— literally 
stolen,— was  plucod  in  Lully's  hands.  He  further 
succeeded  in  introducing  in  the  wording  of  the  patent 


250  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

a  clause  which  gave  to  him  the  exclusive  right  of  pro- 
ducing operas  in  France ! 

This  trickery  and  the  ungenerous  use  of  an  ad- 
vantage won  for  Lully  the  hatred  and  distrust  of  all 
his  artistic  colleagues.  Boileau  calls  him  "an  odious 
buffoon  with  a  low  heart,"  and  frankly  pronounces  his 
standards  dishonourable. 

Henri  Guichard,  furious  over  being  tricked  out  of 
a  post  as  librettist,  published  an  article  declaring  Lully 
to  have  been  the  son  of  an  Italian  miller,  and  attribut- 
ing his  abominable  conduct  to  his  low  origin. 

When  the  article  was  brought  to  LuUy's  notice  he 
merely  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  remarked  coolly 
that  he  was  not  at  all  surprised:  that  he  knew  very 
well  Guichard  would  love  to  poison  him ! 

We  have  many  anecdotes  of  Lully,  but  few  which 
point  to  a  very  pleasant  side  of  his  nature.  In  nearly 
all  he  appears  cunning,  or  insolent,  or  worse.  Now 
and  then  we  catch  a  gleam  of  the  quaint  or  whim- 
sical humour  which  made  him  as  adored  at  Court  as 
he  was  hated  in  the  artistic  Avorld,  but  it  is  rarely 
kindly  humour.  There  is  almost  always  a  sting 
in  it. 

On  one  occasion  he  broke  down  from  overwork  and 
over-dissipation.  The  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  called 
upon  him,  and  Lully,  though  desperately  weak  and  ill, 
outdid  himself  in  his  efforts  to  make  him  welcome. 
Not  so  Madame  de  Lully.     She  looked  with  disfavour 


LA  GRANDE  MADEMOISELLE     251 

upon  the  noble  guest,  and  thought  of  recent  festivities 
at  which  he  had  been  the  host. 

"Oh,  you  are  a  fine  friend!"  she  remarked,  sternly. 
"It  was  you  with  whom  he  got  drunk  last, — and  who 
are  the  cause  of  his  death !" 

Lully  laughed. 

"Hush,  m}'  dear  wife,"  he  said.  "If  I  do  not  die, — 
it  will  be  he  with  whom  I  shall  get  drunk  first !" 

One  afternoon,  on  the  very  eve  of  a  performance, 
Louis  sent  word  that  he  was  too  tired  to  be  present. 

Lully  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  his  favourite  way, 
and  remarked  indifferently  to  the  Gentlemen-in-Wait- 
ing  who  had  brought  the  message :  "The  King  is 
master.      He  may  bore  himself  as  much  as  he  pleases." 

The  Court  performances  were  usually  the  King's 
delight,  however.  As  has  been  stated,  he  danced  in 
many  of  the  Ballets  himself,  and  was  one  of  the  origi- 
nators, it  is  said,  of  "Farewell  Appearances."  For 
the  Court  representations  a  big  arched  frame  and 
platform  were  erected  in  the  gardens  of  Versailles. 
A  curtain  hid  the  musicians  (in  which  respect  they 
were  far  more  artistic  than  we),  and  atmosphere  and 
perspective  were  not  artificial  but  the  natural  effects 
of  shadowy,  tree-lined  garden  spaces.  In  front  of  the 
impromptu  stage  the  thrones  were  placed,  for  the  King 
and  Marie  Therese,  and  on  cither  side  sat  or  stood  the 
Court. 

Here  they  listened  to  the  delicious  melodies  by  the 


252  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

MaUre  de  Musique,  and  watched  the  troops  of  gaily 
dressed  dancers  swaying  and  circling  under  the  rust- 
ling trees.  Here  they  heard  the  "Alceste,  vous 
pleurez," — the  "little  duet"  of  which  Naumann  speaks 
with  so  much  admiration,  and  that  intoxicating 
Chorus  of  Shepherds  and  Shepherdesses  in  "Armide," 
the  following  text  of  which  is  again  Quinault's : 

"Ah,  folly  deep,  and  errors  rife, 
To  fail  to  dance  away  this  life ! 
To  reckless  love  and  laughing  plays 
Give  all  the  flying  wonder-days !" 

It  was  just  after  the  completion  of  this  same 
"Armide"  that  Lully  fell  ill  once  more.  This  time  he 
really  believed  that  he  was  going  to  die,  and  he  sent 
for  his  Confessor. 

After  he  had  mentioned  a  few  of  his  dishonourable 
actions,  the  Confessor  refused  to  grant  absolution 
until  he  had  committed  the  terrible  penance  of  burn- 
ing the  score  of  his  "Armide."  Lully  made  violent 
objections,  but  the  priest  remaining  firm,  he  finally 
agreed.  The  score  was  burned,  and  the  master  musi- 
cian was  absolved  from  his  sins. 

Next  day  Lully  was  better.  In  came  the  Prince  de 
Conti,  much  perturbed. 

"Baptiste!  Baptiste!"  he  cried.  "What  is  this  I 
hear.''  You  have  thrown  your  beautiful  work  into  the 
fire.?" 

"Peace,  peace,  Monseigneur,"  returned  Lully,  smil- 


LA  GRANDE  MADEMOISELLE     253 

ing  cheerfully  from  his  pillow.  "I  knew  what  I  was 
doing, — /  have  a  copy!" 

In  the  space  of  fourteen  years,  Lully,  with  Qui- 
nault  for  his  librettist,  composed  twenty  operas,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  thirty  Ballets  which  he  wrote  to  amuse  the 
King,  and  which  never  were  published.  He  worked 
incessantly,  indefatigably  and  conscientiously.  In 
reviewing  his  life  of  avarice,  deceit,  selfishness  and 
cold-heartedness,  this  is  the  one  fact  upon  which  we 
may  dwell  with  genuine  respect.  Says  Naumann : 
"The  only  ray  of  light  in  the  sorry  spectacle  is  that 
when  Lully  had  climbed  to  the  summit  of  his  worldly 
glory  he  did  not  lapse  into  artistic  idleness,  but  set  to 
work  with  tenfold  vigour  to  elevate  the  national  music- 
drama."  The  final  unpardonable  sin  in  Lully  would 
have  been  an  inept  and  indolent  enjoyment  of  suc- 
cess. 

After  an  illness  of  the  King's,  Lully  wrote  a  "Te 
Deum"  expressive  of  the  national  pleasure  in  the  royal 
recovery.  While  conducting  this  composition  the 
orchestra  made  a  slip  in  the  time,  Lully,  in  his  rage 
and  his  wish  to  accentuate  the  rhythm  unmistakably, 
beat  time  so  furiously  that  he  struck  his  foot  violently 
with  his  baton.  It  was  discovered  that  he  had  wounded 
himself  seriously,  and  in  a  very  short  time  was  the 
victim  of  a  severe  case  of  blood-poisoning. 

Monseigncur  de  Vcndomo  oflPered  the  Marquis  do 
Carrelt,    a    physician,  two    thousand    pistoles    if    he 


254  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

should  cure  him.  But  the  Marquis  was  more  than  half 
a  charlatan,  and  was  quite  incapable  of  coping  with  so 
grave  a  condition. 

Jean  Baptiste  de  Lully  died  on  Saturday,  March 
22d,  1687,  aged  fifty-four.  His  death  was  in  one  of 
his  four  houses,- — that  which  stood  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Ville-l'Eveque, — and  he  was  surrounded  by  his  fam- 
ily,— consisting  of  his  wife  and  six  children.  It  was 
characteristic  that  he  should  die  chanting,  with  dra- 
matic fervour,  a  song  of  penitence ! 

The  Court  mourned  his  loss,  and  his  heirs  overcame 
their  naturally  parsimonious  habits  in  order  to  erect 
for  him  a  superb  monument  in  the  Church  of  the 
Petits  Peres.  The  Latin  epitaph  was  composed  by 
Santeul,  and  the  marble  was  carved  by  Colton,  the 
sculptor.  Such  were  the  tributes  paid  to  the  memory 
of  the  greatest  master  of  music  and  one  of  the  most 
influential  men  in  all  France, — he  who  had  begun  his 
career  as  the  scullion  of  La  Grande  Mademoiselle. 

But  these  gorgeous  honours  were  yet  insufficient  to 
hide  the  unbeautif  ul  character  of  the  dead  man.  Only 
in  his  music  may  his  warped  and  acrid  spirit  be  for- 
gotten, his  ungenerous  deeds  be  forgiven,  and  his  whole 
strange  personality  lifted  into  something  comprehensi- 
ble and  fine. 

Music  was  his  friend,  his  goddess,  and  his  defender. 
When  he  was  little  Giovanni  Battista,  learning  to  play 
the  guitar  from  the  old  Franciscan  monk,  under  the 


LA  GRANDE  MADEMOISELLE     255 

turquoise  sky  of  Florence,  it  was  Music  who  quieted 
his  restless  feet  and  softened  his  perverse  heart. 

And  to-day,  as  we  stare  mercilessly  upon  the  records 
of  wrongs  and  frauds  that  blot  the  brightness  of  his 
remarkable  career,  it  is  INIusic  who  slips  between  and 
lays  a  tender,  protesting  hand  across  our  eyes. 


THE  RUNOS  OF  THE  NORTHLAND 


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XIII 


THE  RUNOS  OF  THE   NORTHLAND 


^Efflar 


"And  though  the  deeds  of  man- folk  were  not  yet  waxen  old. 
Yet  had  they  tales  for  song-craft,  and  the  blossoming  garth 

of   rhyme. 
Tales  of  the  framing  of  all  tilings,  and  the  entering  in  of 

time 
From  the  halls  of  the  outer  heaven, — so  near  they  knew  its 

door. 
Wherefore  up  rose  a  sea-king,  and  his  hands  that  loved  the 

oar 
Now  dealt  with  the  rippling  harp-gold;  and  he  sang  of  the 

shaping  of  earth. 
And  how  the  stars  were  lighted,  and  where  the  winds  had 

birth, 
And  the  gleam  of  the  first  of  summers  on  the  yet  untrodden 

grass.     .     .     ." 

Thus  wrote  William  Morris,  juf^glcr  with  strange, 
rare  thought-colours,  master  of  wind-like,  wave-like 
word-tones,  and  interpreter  of  the  cryptic  soul  of  the 
ancient  North. 

The  writings  of  such  poets  are  invaluable,  if  one  is 
striving  to  understand  the  music, — which  means  the 
heart, — of  such  a  people  as  those  of  Scandinavia. 
Without  the  glimpses  of  light  shed  by  the  illumined 
ones  who  know  we  grope  blindly  in  the  darkness  of 


S60  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

strange  standards  and  alien  sympathies.  Not  only  are 
we  frustrated  by  the  difficulties  of  meagre  information 
and  imperfect  records,  but  we  are  balked  above  all  by 
the  unwillingness  of  the  Northland  to  be  understood  at 
any  cost. 

At  first  we  are  a  trifle  awed,  even  repelled  by  the 
bigness  and  grimness  of  the  world  we  are  trying  to 
explore.  We  find  there  strength  that  is  superhuman, 
courage  that  is  barbaric,  melancholy  that  is  profound 
and  hopeless,  passion  that  is  without  tenderness,  emo- 
tions that  seem  always  either  savage  or  sad,  and  that 
often  are  both.  There  appears  to  be  gaiety  there, — 
not  happiness,  but  a  wild,  cold  sort  of  exhilaration  to 
which  we  find  it  harder  to  respond  than  to  the  depres- 
sion which  otherwise  prevails.  We  find  mists  and 
towering  mountains,  fir-trees  and  snow-filled  gullies, 
biting  winds,  and  black  waters  storming  a  gloomy 
coast.  We  hear  the  twang  of  rude  harps  or  Kanteles, 
and  hear  rough  voices  chanting  unintelligible  syllables 
and  dreary  airs.  And  we  draw  back,  chilled  and  dis- 
couraged. How  hope  to  look  into  the  hearts  of  these 
strange  folk,  and  master  the  inherent  motives  and  sen- 
timents of  their  national  songs  ? 

But  after  striving  and  struggling,  after  much  pa- 
tience and  many  prayers  to  Odin  and  the  rest,  the 
time  comes  when  the  grey  cold  mists  part  a  little,  and 
we  begin  to  see  cattle  in  the  shadow  of  the  big  dark 
hills,  and  smoke  rising  from  the  wind-swept  valleys. 


THE  RUNOS  OF  THE  NORTHLAND    261 

We  begin  to  discover  the  humanity  which  is  burning 
brightly  even  among  the  ice-fields.  We  see  not  onlj' 
sea-folk,  and  men  who  know  how  to  fight  and  to  die, 
but  the  makers  and  warders  of  homes.  We  hear  the 
Lur  or  cow-horn  calling  in  the  herds  at  sunset,  and 
see  the  women  spinning  or  knitting  by  red-lighted 
hearth-stones.  And  the  eternal  minor  note  in  their 
music  ceases  to  be  dreary,  and  becomes  touching,  and 
the  dearth  of  light  or  tender  feeling  in  their  ballads 
resolves  itself  into  the  reticence  of  a  race  proverbially 
silent. 

We  find  that  here  are  a  people  far  less  unfriendly 
than  we  dreamed,  a  people  full  of  poetic  feeling,  and 
loving  music  with  all  the  fervour  of  peculiarly  intense 
natures  ;  a  people  who  pour  their  melancholy  into  their 
songs  as  the  Spaniards  of  old  poured  their  inconse- 
quent joys  and  headlong  passions  into  theirs;  as  the 
Troubadours  poured  their  love-fancies,  and  the  good 
Meistersingers  their  conscientious  pedantry. 

And  so  we  enter  at  last  into  the  spirit  of  the  coun- 
try. And  in  time  we  grow  to  love  the  quaint  sad 
Runos,  as  they  call  these  ancient  ballads  of  theirs,  and 
seem  to  find  in  their  odd  intervals  and  rhythm,  their 
sudden  pauses  and  unexpected  cadences, — wonderful 
little  pictures  of  long,  dark,  dream-haunted  years  in 
the  world  of  the  North. 

And  thus  begins  the  study  of  Scandinavian  Folk- 
Song. 


262  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

By  Scandinavia,  we  mean  Norway,  Sweden,  Iceland, 
Lapland,  Finland  and  Denmark — all  the  mysterious 
silent  Northland.  It  is  as  much  of  an  enigma  nation- 
ally as  the  East, — almost  as  inscrutable,  if  possibly 
less  profound.  Our  nearest  approach  to  understand- 
ing it  is  in  our  childhood,  usually,  through  the  genius 
of  that  poet-magician,  Hans  Christian  Andersen. 

We  all  know  how  eagerly  we  used  to  read  of  fjords, 
and  lakes,  and  marshes,  and  water-spirits,  and  reindeer, 
and  wolves,  and  other  queer  delightful  Northern 
things ;  and  can  surely  remember  those  wonderful  days 
when  Gerda's  journey  to  the  Palace  of  the  Snow 
Queen  was  a  thrilling  fact,  and  the  Marsh  King's 
daughter  was  not  only  a  pathetic  and  charming  per- 
son, but  very  much  alive.  Dear  Hans  Christian  An- 
dersen,— all  the  children  of  all  the  world  form  your 
kingdom ; — and  all  the  children  of  all  the  world  thank 
you,  because  you  have  given  them  the  freedom  of  the 
Country  of  Dreams. 

From  the  beginning  of  things  the  Scandinavian 
nations  have  been  imaginative  and  beauty-loving,  in 
spite  of  their  exterior  coldness  and  gloom.  Their 
epic-poems  have  always  been  standards  of  free,  wild 
poetry,  and  few  races  know  so  well  how  to  sing  of 
gods  and  heroes  and  big  elementary  matters.  They 
know,  too,  how  to  imprison  nature-pictures  in  a  few 
words  and  notes.  The  breath  of  their  ice-chilled 
mountain  winds  is  in  their  Runos  and  their  Kampevisor 


THE  RUNOS  OF  THE  NORTHLAND    263 

(battle-songs  or  heroic  songs)  and  their  effects  are 
always  of  a  large,  bold  and  noble  order. 

There  is  almost  no  lyrical  music,  according  to 
our  standards.  There  are  love  songs,  it  is  true,  but 
almost  invariably  they  are  of  a  fierce  and  even  unten- 
der  order,  proclaiming  103-alty  and  passion,  but  few 
of  the  pretty  illusions  with  which  the  South  likes  to 
play. 

A  good  example  of  the  love-poetry  of  the  North  is 

to  be  found  in  the  following  strange  little  lyric, — 

much  sung  in  Finland,  and  known  as  the  "Love  Song 

of  the  Finnish  Maiden"  : 

*"If  my  Well-Known  should  come, 
My  Often-Seen  should   appear, 
I  would  snatch  a  kiss  from  his  mouth 
Though  it  were  tainted  with  wolf's  blood; 
I  would  seize  and  press  his  hand, 
If  a  serpent  were  at  the  end  of  it; 
If  the  wind  had  a  mind, 
If  the  I)reeze  had  a  tongue, 
To  hear  and  bring  back  the  vows 
Which  two  lovers  exchange. 

"All  dainties  would  I  disregard, 
Even  the  Vicar's  savoury  meat, 
Rather  than  forsake  the  friend  of  my  heart, 
The  wild  game  of  my  summer's  hunting, 
The  darling  of  my  winter's  taming." 

Such  a  girl  as  this  seems  to  paint  her  own  picture  in 
her   words.      One   ran    easily    imagine   her, — straight, 
'Translation  by  Edward  Daniel  Clarke. 


264  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

strong  and  fearless,  clear-eyed  and  unashamed,  truth- 
ful and  daring  in  her  love  as  she  would  he  in  her  hate, 
capable  of  gentleness,  doubtless,  but  utterly  incapable 
of  putting  it  into  words,  a  creature  as  clean  as  the 
snow,  as  strong  as  the  sea,  as  passionate  as  the  storm, — 
the  woman  of  the  Northland. 

The  Folk-Song  of  a  people  must  always  be  very 
close  of  necessity  to  their  immediate  interests  and 
every-day  considerations.  If  there  is  a  ruling  pas- 
sion or  an  ever-present  fear  in  a  nation,  be  certain  that 
you  will  find  it  flourishing  in  nine-tenths  of  its  ballads. 

The  deep-rooted  terror  of  wolves  in  certain  parts  of 

the  North  gave  birth  to  the  following  brief  song  of 

Lapland,  which  is  still  sung,  although  it  is  very  ancient 

indeed : 

^"Accursed  wolf,  far  hence, — away! 
Make  in  these  woods  no  longer  stay; 
Fly  hence !  And  seek  earth's  utmost  bounds. 
Or  perish,  by  the  hunter's  wounds !" 

One  may  easily  imagine  this  "Song  to  the  Wolf," 
as  it  is  called,  chanted  by  the  hunters  as  they  fly  over 
the  snow  fields,  with  knives  ready  for  the  fierce  beasts 
to  whom  their  song  is  addressed. 

The  Kdmpevisor  are  for  the  most  part  extraordinary 
productions.  They  are  declamatory  and  almost  with- 
out rhythm  or  melody  save  for  the  Omkvdd,  or  refrain. 

Nearly  all  are  minor,  and  many  are  in  such  time 
'Translation  by  Joseph   Acerbi. 


THE  RUNOS  OF  THE  NORTHLAND    265 

as  5/4  or  7/4.  JNIoreover  the  majority  were  composed 
to  be  sun;5  to  the  Kantele, — a  harp-like  instrument 
with  five  strings,  G,  A,  Bfj,  C  and  D, — which,  as 
may  readily  be  seen,  form  the  foundation  for  a  pecu- 
liarl}'^  plaintive  class  of  airs. 

Almost  the  best  example  of  Epic  Song  within  our 
reach  is  that  upon  Sigurd's  battle  with  the  Dragon. 
It  is  very  old,  and,  when  finall}^  notated,  had  to  be 
taken  down  from  the  lips  of  singers  in  Norway,  whose 
ad  libitum  stjde  of  singing  made  it  very  difficult  to 
catch  the  rhythm.  It  is  really  an  interesting  piece 
of  music,  though  its  weirdness  may  bo  imagined  from 
the  following  strange  bars  which  occur  just  before  the 
Omkvac!: 


ij        i^~'^-={gr=b=::^EEr=F^^— ■^-=^-=g!=Bit 


i 


^ szJ: # ^f^ "^-S*- 


-jcg: a* »f ■S' J5C 

"Back  in  the  world's  beginning"  they  made  it,  the 

old  Scolds   and   Runojas.      They   were   not   ordinary 

singers,  it  is  certain,  but  some  "masters  of  song-ci'aft" 

such  as  William  Morris  describes : 

".      .      .     The  mightiest  men  that  cast 
The  sails  of  the  storm  of  battle  adovvn  the  bickering  blast." 

With  an  accompaniment  of  wind  playing  wailing 
battle  music  among  the  bending  fir-trees,  they  fash- 
ioned the  song  of  Sigurd,  while  yet, — who  knows? — 


266  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

his  great  deeds  may  have  been  close  enough  to  be  re- 
membered and  sung  in  exultation  and  in  awe. 

The  great  Scandinavian  King,  Regner  Lodbrog, 
composed  many  splendid  Kdmpevisor,  full  of  the  al- 
most savage  courage  of  the  Northland,  and  giving  re- 
markable glimpses  of  the  hold  which  their  m3i:hology 
had  upon  these  Vikings  and  warriors.  One,  roughly 
translated,  runs  as  follows : 

"My  courage  tells  me  that  death  is  near. 
Already  the  Divinities  sent  for  me  by  Odin 
Invite  me  to  enter  his  Dwelling  Place. 
Seated  high  at  his  table, 
I  shall  then,  with  much  good  cheer, 
Drink  of  the  rare  mead  that  he  will  oifer  me. 
The  hours  of  my  life  are  ended: 
I  die,  laughing!" 

The  following,  also  the  composition  of  Regner,  is 
more  savage,  and  even  more  characteristic  of  his  race 
and  land: 

"We  have  stricken   oflF  the  heads   of  these  oui   enemies   with 

our  swords ! 
But  that  which  causeth  me  my  greatest  joy 
Is  that  Odin  hath  bidden  me  shortly  to  his  feast 
Soon  I  shall  drink  my  fill  of  mead  there, 
Mead  foaming  from  a  curved  drink-horn ! 
And  with  neither  fear  nor  trembling  shall  I  present  myself 

at  the  Palace !" 

Truly  here  were  men  worthy  to  sit  at  wine  "with 
the  gods  of  the  Elder  Days," — men  to  whom  life  was  a 
battle-ground,  pain  a  triumphant  test  of  courage,  sor- 


THE  RUNOS  OF  THE  NORTHLAND    267 

row  a  jest, — grim,  but  good, — and  death  an  invitation 
to  a  banquet ! 

The  verses  just  quoted, — if  verses  they  could  be 
called, — were  sung  to  inconceivably  wild  and  barbaric 
melodies.  The  last-cited  one  has  attached  to  it  an  air 
of  particularly  poignant  tragedy,  mingled  with  a  fierce 
exultation  which  makes  its  intervals  quite  incompre- 
hensible to  a  civilised  ear.  But  one  would  like  to 
have  seen  him, — this  King  Regner  who  laughed  at 
death,  and  gloried  in  Odin's  invitation  to  his  table, — 
and  to  have  heard  him  chant  his  wild  strange  songs 
of  bloodshed,  and  dying,  and  the  drink-horns  of  the 


gods ! 

It  was  not  only  the  mountain  and  sea  folk  who  made 
songs.  There  were  court  minstrels  in  ancient  Nor- 
way, Denmark  and  Sweden,  as  in  other  lands.  They 
had  their  measure  of  musical  cultivation,  and  in  many 
cases  had  learned  their  art  in  foreign  lands.  Though 
these  men  wrote  music  less  typically  Scandinavian 
than  the  pure  folk-songs,  they  deserve  honourable 
mention  in  musical  history. 

Poetry  and  music  were  popular  in  all  the  old  Scandi- 
navian Courts.  Many  were  the  men  who  won  fame 
and  honour  by  their  gift  of  song.  There  was  that 
noted  minstrel  of  the  eleventh  century,  the  great 
Jarlaskald,  a  contemporary  of  those  mighty  sons  of 
the  immortal  Sigurd:  Harald  and  Magnus  the  Good. 
There  was  Arnold  of  Iceland,  attached  to  the  Court 


268  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

of  Waldemar  the  Great,  King  of  Denmark.  There 
were  Acquinus  the  Swede,  Gustav  Vasa,  Torstenius 
Johannes,  Jean  Fortcjo,  Melchior,  Borchgrevinck, 
Diihen,  Sartorius,  Bauwart,  Biedermann,  Meibomius, 
and  many  others.  And  they  made  great  quantities  of 
stirring  songs  for  the  delectation  of  those  long-ago, 
semi-barbaric  courts. 

Says  Soubies:  "Those  regions  possess  one  of  the 
most  essential  elements  for  great  poetry  and  great  art, 
and  that  is  a  past  that  is  rich  in  heroic  traditions  and 
epic  memories.  Parallel  with  this  vein  of  secular 
legends  run  the  peculiarly  grand  and  severe  nature  of 
the  country, — a  sort  of  nature  most  favourable  to  an 
aptitude  for  revery.  It  engenders  a  disposition  in 
melancholy  souls  to  the  sentiments  whence  come  the 
songs  of  the  people, — songs  of  rare  colour  and  pene- 
trating accent." 

The  great  Liszt,  whose  insight  into  the  souls  of  men 
was  truly  that  of  the  magician  they  termed  him,  ex- 
pressed much  of  the  spirit  of  the  Northland  singers 
when  he  wrote : 

"The  Scandinavian  Bards  faced  a  frigid  Nature 
who  imposed  upon  their  senses  a  great  fear, — fear  of  a 
climate  rarely  lighted  even  by  a  passing  smile.  There- 
fore they  exalted  courage  to  a  point  of  almost  voluptu- 
ous indulgence,  and  Walhalla  offered  them  not  so 
much  a  recompense  for  their  achievements  as  an  op- 
portunity for  fresh  combats  and  incessant  victories." 


THE  RUNOS  OF  THE  NORTHLAND    269 

But  they  had  an  Orpheus  once  in  Finland, — a  singer 
of  gentler  Runos,  and  an  awakener  of  tenderer  dreams. 
He  lived  in  m}i:hological  days,  and  he  was  a  demi-god. 
His  name  was  Wainamoinen, — mercifully  corrupted  to 
Vainamoinen,  which  is  quite  bad  enough.  And,  like 
the  other  Orpheus,  he  could  charm  the  wild  things  into 
submission,  and  even  draw  the  timid  sprites  of  wood 
and  woo  them  from  their  most  secret  hiding  places.  He 
would  sit  in  the  forest,  so  goes  the  legend,  and  play 
upon  his  harp,  and  sing  most  sweetly  and  melodiously, 
until  the  big  bear  came  lumbering  from  his  den,  and 
the  wolf  crept  near,  his  wild  eyes  softened  by  love, 
and  the  fishes  poked  their  silver  noses  up  through  the 
ripples  of  the  stream,  and  the  big,  strange  birds 
dropped  in  their  swift  flight  to  listen.  Then,  as  he 
played  and  sang,  the  reindeer  would  come  down  the 
mountain  side,  his  antlered  head  upraised  to  hear  the 
music,  and  the  snake  would  slowly  uncoil  and  glide 
close  to  the  singer's  foot.  And  the  NecJcer,  the  sad, 
music-loving  water-folk,  who  had  lost  their  souls  but 
wanted  to  go  to  heaven,  would  come  up  in  shadowy 
crowds  among  the  reeds,  and  the  gay,  evil  satyrs  that 
lived  in  trees  and  laughed  at  all  things,  would  draw 
closer,  in  sudden  gentle  melancholy,  while  Vainamoi- 
nen sang  and  played  upon  his  harp. 

From  this  legend  it  is  easy  to  see  the  deep  hold 
which  music  has  always  had  upon  the  people  of  the 
North.     In  Vainamoinen  they  incarnated  the  Spirit 


270  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

of  Music,  and  in  the  adoration  of  the  wild  things 
depicted  their  own  devotion  to  the  Goddess  of  Sweet 
Sounds.  If  the  sounds  evolved  by  them  are  sometimes 
far  from  sweet  to  our  ears,  it  may  be  because  our 
sense  of  hearing  has  not  been  subjected  to  the  severe 
training  of  avalanches  and  mountain  storms  ! 

In  a  land  where  the  after-glow  of  the  worship  of 
gods  has  hardly  faded  from  the  sky,  it  is  inevitable 
that  superstition  and  belief  in  the  supernatural  should 
abound.  Every  manner  of  sprite  and  elf  is  reputed  to 
inhabit  those  far  away  Northern  forests,  and  the  fog 
is  supposed  to  be  full  of  spectral  shapes  with  portents 
of  good  or  ill.  The  spirits  there  are  of  the  elemental 
order,  inhabiting  trees,  brooks,  lakes  and  hill-places, 
in  the  manner  of  certain  Grecian  and  Roman  beings  of 
whom  we  have  read  in  ancient  poems  and  legends. 

But  the  one  sprite  of  the  Northland  gifted  with  an 
eternal  love  and  gift  for  the  art  of  song  is  the  Neck, 
or  Nixy, — the  pale  water-fairy  who  spends  his  or  her 
wave-washed  years  in  singing  strange  songs,  to  the 
wonder  of  those  who  pass  near. 

The  Necker  are  reputed  to  be  angels  who,  by  per- 
mitting thoughts  of  sin,  have  fallen  from  Heaven,  and 
are  doomed  to  be  fairy-folk  until  by  some  marvellous, 
merciful  chance  they  win  back  their  souls.  Hans 
Andersen,  in  his  sad  little  tale  of  the  Mermaid  who 
won  her  soul  through  love,  has  touched  most  grace- 
fully upon  this  old  superstition.     Many  other  writers 


THE  RUNOS  OF  THE  NORTHLAND    271 

have  made  it  the  subject  for  stories  and  poems, — 
Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti  among  others.  But  the  land 
of  the  North  is  full  of  legends  more  interesting  and 
poetic  than  any  which  the  writers  of  other  tongues 
have  been  able  to  originate  or  even  plagiarise.  The 
"Oxonian  in  Thelemarken"  (Norway)  says: 

"Like  the  Daoineshi  of  the  Scotch  Highlands,  the 
Neck  of  Scandinavia  shines  in  a  talent  for  music. 
Poor  creatures !  The  peasantry  may  well  fancy  they 
are  fallen  angels  who  hope  some  day  for  forgiveness ; 
for  was  not  one  heard,  near  Hornbogabro,  in  West 
Gotland,  singing  to  a  sweet  melody,  'I  know,  I  know, 
I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth'.''  And  did  not  a 
Neck,  when  some  boys  once  said  to  him,  'What  good  is 
it  for  you  to  be  sitting  here  and  playing,  for  you  will 
never  enjoy  eternal  happiness? — begin  to  weep  bit- 
terly?    .      .     ." 

Among  the  dances  of  Sweden  is  one  very  graceful 
and  charming  one  known  as  the  "Neckens  Polska." 
The  melody  of  it  is  light  and  pretty,  but  it  lacks  the 
mournfulness  which  is  so  nearly  inevitable  in  North- 
ern music,  and  which  would  be  particularly  suitable  in 
anything  bearing  the  name  of  that  most  melancholy  of 
elves,  the  Neck. 

Poor  Necker!  Let  us  hope  that  you  will  all  find 
your  souls  and  go  back  to  Heaven, — even  though 
your  going  leave  the  lakes  silent  and  the  streams  deso- 
late. 


272  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

The  country  is  peculiarly  rich  in  legends  and  fairy- 
stories,  all,  with  practically  no  exceptions,  incorpo- 
rated in  the  folk-songs.  With  all  their  reserve  as  a 
nation  the  Scandinavians  have  been  extraordinarily 
prolific  in  the  making  of  songs. 

There  are  so  many  songs  in  Jutland  that  at  one  time 
it  was  not  permissible  to  sing  the  same  song  more  than 
once  in  a  year ! 

There  is  a  district  called  the  Strickgegend,  or 
Knitting  District,  where  the  air  is  as  full  of  folk-songs 
as  a  wood  with  the  songs  of  birds.  For  years  the  cus- 
tom prevailed  for  the  peasants  to  meet  every  evening 
during  the  winter  months,  spin  or  knit  woollen  fabrics, 
and  sing  their  songs  till  late  into  the  night.  Wagner 
in  his  "Flying  Dutchman"  has  made  use  of  this  cus- 
tom on  a  small  scale.  But  it  remains  for  some  one 
to  describe  for  us,  in  prose,  poetry  or  drama,  such  a 
scene  as  the  books  of  travel  indicate :  the  roaring  fire, 
the  whirring  wheels  and  clicking  needles,  the  minor 
music  of  the  Langluke  (a  harp-shaped  violin)  or  the 
Kantele,\hQ  voices  of  the  peasants, and  the  monotonous 
chant  telling  of  the  prowess  of  some  long-dead  demi- 
god ;  while  outside  the  winter  winds  shriek  and  struggle 
together  among  the  trees. 

Not  always  are  the  Northern  scenes  accompanied 
by  the  roar  of  storms,  however.  There  is  peace  to  be 
found  among  them  of  a  profound,  because  a  primitive, 
description. 


THE  RUNOS  OF  THE  NORTHLAND    273 

Take,  for  instance,  the  watchmen  of  the  cities.  As 
in  all  lands  where  the  older  civilisation  prevails,  the 
custom  of  having  the  streets  patrolled  all  night  by 
these  quaint  and  picturesque  figures  is  still  universal. 
With  his  lantern  in  his  hand,  the  Norwegian  watch- 
man wanders  along  between  the  sleeping  houses,  cries 
the  hour,  and  reports  upon  wind  and  weather. 

In  Spain  they  had,  as  we  know,  a  brief  and  most 
musical  phrase  to  sing,  but  the  Norwegian  Watch- 
man intones  a  monotonous  sort  of  chant  which  is  well- 
nigh  interminable.  And  he  sings  the  same  one  that 
his  predecessors  have  been  singing  for  centuries  gone 

by. 

In  Trondhjem  they  sing  a  different  kmd  of  exhor- 
tation to  prayer  with  every  hour.  Here  is  the  one 
for  ten  o'clock: 

»"Ho,  the  Watchman,  ho! 
The  clock  has  struck  ten, 
Praised  be  God  our  Lord! 
Now  it  is  time 
To  go  to  bed, 

The  housewife  and  her  maid, 
The  master  as  well  as  his  lad. 
The  wind  is  south-east. 
Hallelujah!  Praised  be 
God  our  Lord." 

We  all  remember  the  Watchman  in  "Die  Meister- 
singer"  with  his  ''Lobet  Gott  den  Herm'\f    Evidently 
'Translation  by  De  Capell  Brooke. 


274  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

City  Watchmen,  whether  in  Nuremberg  or  Norway, 
will  always  be  much  the  same ! 

Then,  as  was  said  at  the  beginning  of  this  article, 
there  is  a  gentle  and  quiet  side  to  the  country-life  in 
the  North.  The  most  melodious  form  of  music  which 
one  finds  there  is  the  Herdsman's  call.  This,  having 
various  airs,  is  always  of  the  same  character,  and 
is  employed  by  the  peasants,  both  men  and  women, 
to  call  the  herds  and  flocks  down  from  the  hills.  With 
it  goes  the  nasal  note  of  the  Lur.  By  the  bye,  it  is 
a  cow-horn  which  Wagner  gives  to  the  afore-men- 
tioned Watchman.  One  may  imagine  from  that  what 
it  sounds  like ; — far  from  tuneful,  we  may  wager ! 
But  the  Calls  themselves  are  charming.  They  are 
more  unequivocally  melodies  than  any  music  in  all 
Scandinavia,  and  have  a  plaintive  lilt  of  their  own 
which  is  essentially  characteristic,  and  could  have  been 
conceived  by  no  other  people. 

The  one  which  will  be  found  at  the  beginning  of  this 
article  is  one  of  the  loveliest.  Like  all  Scandinavian 
music,  whether  harsh  or  graceful,  it  paints  a  picture. 
In  this  case  it  seems  to  be  that  of  a  mountain  slope  flam- 
ing with  the  light  of  the  cold  Northern  sunset,  mists 
lying  white  and  still  on  a  Neck-haunted  lake,  some 
clear-eyed  girl  with  the  Lur  held  to  her  lips,  standing 
on  the  rocky  pathway,  while  the  herds  come  slowly 
down  from  among  the  trees  above  her  on  the  hill. 
Down  in  the  valley  somewhere  a  fire  is  waiting,  supper, 


THE  RUNOS  OF  THE  NORTHLAND    275 

and  the  spinning  wheel.  And  later  there  will  be  songs 
and  legends  of  the  heroes  that  are  dead  and  the  sprites 
that  are  living. 

Yet,  with  all  our  effort  and  with  all  our  occasional 
confidence  in  success,  have  we  indeed,  in  our  study  of 
these  mysterious  folk,  crept  one  step  farther  upon  the 
road  of  understanding.'*  We  have  seen  a  few  pictures 
and  listened  to  a  few  songs ;  we  have  exulted  in  frag- 
mentary' glimpses  of  the  veiled  secrets  of  sentiment 
and  emotion.  But  the  true  Scandinavia, — the  ever- 
lasting North, — have  we  really  touched  her  sealed, 
strange  heart  for  but  the  shadow  of  a  passing 
moment  ? 

I  fear  if  she  heard  the  question  she  would  smile, 
as  who  should  say:  "When  you  have  understood  the 
secrets  of  Silence,  and  the  Mysteries  of  Dreams,  the 
heart  of  the  Sphinx,  and  the  Soul  of  Religion,  when 
you  have  learned  why  Life  was,  and  what  Death  will 
be,  and  the  age  of  the  eternal  stars, — you  may  under- 
stand Me!" 


THE    ROMANCE   OF   STRADELLA 


AIR  FROM  THE  "SERENATA" 


^^ 


rf= f=- 


fg-r-trrs- 


^ 


1= — r 


B^^:::^: 


Go,  thou,  therefore,   and      see      where  waits,  Where 


^^-^ — ^3^3: 


=ft^ 


:ii=t: 


:?=P=:^ 


=1=C 


;tz 


waits      a. 


true      heart;       Which  doth  bend  to     thy 


i 


br^- 


iJ=J^-B*-i^ 


ff 


scorn,   and     doth       of 


fer —        in  -  cense    of 


^ 


:iJpr 


=== &g>- 


-f^       P^ 


1 r 


-f^ — f^- 


it==t 


ifczt 


-t- 

Go,     thou,  therefore,  and    see       where 


love 


# 


b     rJ       f- 


■P— p-^-g= 


:iii— P- 


■si— g)— gj- 


trzkl        I       zH 


waits     a  ...      true    heart,  Which  doth  bend  to    thy 


^^^ 


te:^ 


-nr^ — I — 


=c=t: 


+-r— I- 


=3=t 


scorn  and  doth  of  -  fer. 


in  -  cenae       of love. 


XIV 


THE   ROMANCE    OF   STRADELLA 


NEVER  in  musical  history  has  there  been  so  m^'steri- 
ous  a  person  as  Alessandro  Stradella.  For  some 
strange  reason  no  one  knows  anything  definite  about 
him,  but  everyone  a  great  deal  that  is  indefinite.  Why 
all  the  reliable  records  are  silent  concerning  this  really 
great  composer  will  never  be  known, — nor  why,  in  the 
absence  of  definite  facts,  people  should  have  taken  the 
trouble  to  invent  so  much  fiction.  But  it  is  true  that 
most  of  our  information  concerning  him  seems  to  be 
the  result  of  vague  report,  vivid  imagination,  or  sim- 
ple, flagrant  error.  One  writer  declares:  "No  musi- 
cian has  ever  been  the  subject  of  more  unwarrantable 
romancing  than  he."  Another  says,  in  reference  to 
Bourdclot's  famous  account  of  the  composer's  life  and 
death:  "How  can  we  believe  a  statement  .  .  . 
that  was  made  simply  on  the  faith  of  Court  gossip?" 

But  in  spite  of  these  and  other  statements  rejecting 
the  accuracy  of  the  story,  the  Romance  of  Stradella 
will  always  be  popular,  and,  what  is  more,  it  will  al- 
ways be  credited  by  at  least  half  the  reading  world.  If 
no  man  can  prove  it  true,  at  least  no  man  can  prove  it 


280  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

false !  And,  for  the  rest,  there  are  several  Interesting 
facts  of  history  which  were  preserved  for  us  by 
"Court  gossip." 

And  so,  admitting  in  the  very  beginning  that  they 
all  may  be  unfounded,  we  will  turn  our  attention  to 
such  incidents  as  are  written  down  in  Bourdelot's 
book.  He  was  the  first  romancer  on  the  subject, — 
if  indeed  it  be  all  romancing, — and  the  other  ro- 
mancers have  copied  him  obediently.  We  are  really 
obliged  to,  for  I  doubt  If  many  of  us  have  the  imagi- 
nation to  invent  so  good  a  story  as  his ! 

The  Abbe  Bourdelot  was  a  charming  person, — even 
if  he  knew  nothing  about  music  and  wrote  about  it  as 
though  it  were  Black  Magic  or  poison  ivy.  And  who 
knows  that  his  "Court  gossip"  was  untrue?  He 
vouches  for  the  facts,  and  his  book  impresses  one,  at 
least,  as  being  ingenuous. 

So  here  is  the  romance  of  Stradella.  He  was  born 
somewhere  about  1645, — Bourdelot  and  Wanley  say 
in  Venice,  Burney,  Fetis  and  Naumann  In  Naples.  Let 
us  take  the  Abbe's  word  in  favour  of  Venice,  even 
though  Naumann  insists  that  he  belonged  to  the  Nea- 
politan school. 

"He  was  a  comely  person,"  says  Wanley,  "and  of 
an  amorous  nature." 

Signor  Muzzicato  appears  to  think  this  statement 
quite  unjustifiable,  since  there  is  no  authentic  descrip- 
tion of  Stradella  extant,  but  it  seems,  on  the  whole, 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  STRADELLA     281 

a  most  reasonable  deduction.  The  "Penny  Cyclo- 
pedia's" assertions,  which  also  annoy  Signor  Muz- 
zicato  intenseh^  are,  it  must  be  admitted,  a  trifle  more 
visionary:  "Stradella  was  not  handsome,  but  remark- 
able for  his  symmetry  of  form,  his  wit  and  polished 
manners." 

But  when  a  man  presents  so  mysterious  and  ro- 
mantic a  figure  as  this  long-dead  maker  of  madrigals, 
a  certain  poetic  license  should  be  permitted  anyone 
who  attempts  to  write  of  him.  After  all,  since  the 
authorities  declare  that  nothing  can  be  proved  con- 
cerning his  life,  what  could  one  say  about  him  if  for- 
bidden to  use  one's  imagination?  Let  us,  therefore, 
assume,  by  all  means,  that  he  was  "a  comely  person, 
and  of  an  amorous  nature,"  and  that,  though  not 
strictly  handsome,  "he  was  remarkable  for  the  sym- 
metry of  his  form,  his  wit,  and  polished  manners." 

Other  statements  almost  as  hopeless  to  substantiate, 
according  to  Signor  Muzzicato,  are  Hawkins's  that  "he 
■was  an  exquisite  performer  on  the  harp;"  Burney's 
that  "he  was  a  great  performer  on  the  violin ;"  Wan- 
ley's  that  "he  excelled  in  an  extraordinary  hand,  so 
much  so  as  to  have  been  accounted  the  best  organist 
in  Italy ;"  and  Catalani's  that  "he  was  a  Latin  and 
perhaps  also  an  Italian  poet."  However,  since  we 
are  romancing,  let  us  accept  them  all! 

In  any  case  no  one  denies  that  he  was  a  great  com- 
poser, who  helped  to  develop  the  Cantata,  and  wrote 


282  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

exquisite  madrigals,  ariettas,  and  canzonets.  He  was 
a  really  marvellous  lyric-maker,  writing  the  purest 
and  most  poetic  style  of  melody  imaginable.  His 
madrigal  "All'  apparir  del  Sole"  is  charming,  but 
clings  to  the  old  polyphonic  methods.  It  is  in  his 
compositions  for  single  voices  that  his  melodic  gift  is 
easily  seen.  Unfortunately  we  have  few  authentic 
songs  of  his,  though  we  have  several  which  are  wrongly 
attributed  to  him. 

The  "Serenata," — a  masque  or  pastorale, — -though 
it  has  been  pronounced  crude  by  masters  of  harmony 
has  a  wonderful  atmosphere,  and  a  charm  quite  ita 
own.  Rockstro  calls  it  "the  work  that  Handel  hon- 
oured by  borrowing  from  it."  In  this  "divertimento" 
each  lover  brings  a  coachful  of  musicians  to  serenade 
the  "Dama"  whom  both  love.  In  the  complications 
that  ensue  there  is  some  delightful  music.  "The  Sin- 
fonia"  is  rather  clattering  and  disappointing,  but  the 
vocal  parts  are  all  that  could  be  desired.  The  deli- 
cious aria  "Amor,  amor!"  is  too  long  to  be  given  in 
its  entirety,  but  the  "Ite  dunque  a  cercar"  at  the  end 
of  this  song  is  the  best  of  all.  It  is  built  upon  two 
lines : 

"Ite  dunque  cercar  dov'e  quel  core 
Che  s'atterri  al  di  sprezzo  o  incensi  amore. 
(Go  thou  therefore  and  see  where  waits  a  humble  heart 
Which  doth  bend  to  thy  scorn  and  doth  offer  incense  of 
love.)" 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  STRADELLA     283 

Stradella's  music  is  wonderfully  delicate.  It  sug- 
gests moonlight  and  fine-carven  traceries  on  marble. 
Its  warmth, — for  it  is  warm  now  and  then, — is  the 
warmth  of  summer-kissed  flowers.  Note  the  magical 
cadence  of  the  "incensi  amore"  and  see  if  the  effect  is 
not  actually  that  of  incense. 

But  to  return  to  the  Romance. 

There  was  a  certain  nobleman  in  Venice  named 
Contarini.  He  was  a  man  of  great  influence  and  high 
standing,  and  had  a  real  or  a  cultivated  taste  for 
music.  He  did  all  that  he  could  to  further  the  cause 
of  melody  in  Venice, — perhaps  because  the  woman  he 
loved  was  a  singer.  Her  name  was  Ortensia  (Burncy 
says  Hortensia)  ;  we  know  her  to  have  been  gifted  and 
charming,  and  believe  her  to  have  been  beautiful.  And 
Burney  says  that  she  was  possessed  of  "many  esti- 
mable qualities." 

Ortensia's  voice  was  a  very  lovel}'  one,  and  she  had 
a  fair  amount  of  musical  education,  but  her  singing 
had  not  been  perfected  to  the  limit  of  its  possibilities, 
and  she  had  never  reached  great  heights  in  her  per- 
formances. 

Now  at  this  time  Stradella  was  what  Bourdclot  calls 
"the  fasliionable  musician"  of  Venice.  By  what  steps 
he  had  attained  the  position  has  never  been  told  by 
the  romancers.  He  was  then  about  thirty,  and  the 
most  brilliant  composer  of  his  land  and  day.  Con- 
tarini had  heard  him  sing  and  play  and  knew  his  com- 


284.  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

positions.  Here,  thought  the  nobleman,  was  a  musician 
worthy  to  teach  even  the  wonderful  Ortensia  whom  he 
adored.  He  determined  that  with  Stradella  and  Stra- 
della  alone  should  she  study  to  perfect  her  voice. 

He  spoke  of  the  matter  to  Ortensia,  and  she  said 
that  it  would  give  her  pleasure  to  let  the  young  maestro 
teach  her.  So  Contarini,  a  violent  man,  but  possessed 
of  a  great  love  for  her,  was  overjoyed  to  have  pleased 
her,  and  betook  himself  away  to  seek  out  Stradella. 

Poor  Ortensia !  If  she  might  but  come  back  to  us, 
and  tell  us  just  how  it  all  happened  two  centuries  ago ! 
I  think  she  was  a  typical  Venetian,  with  gold-red  hair 
and  sad  eyes.  For  some  reason, — doubtless  because 
of  her  terrible  death, — Ortensia  seems  a  tragic  figure. 
One  cannot  think  of  her  as  laughing  or  jesting, — • 
only  leaning  on  some  stone  window-ledge  and  staring 
wistfully  out  over  the  silent  canals  and  blue-washed 
spaces  of  Venice : 

"Mid  the  waves 
Of  the  City  of  Graves." 

She  was  one  upon  whom  Fate  had  laid  a  compelling 
finger  from  the  beginning,  and  there  was  an  endless 
shadow  in  her  eyes. 

Stradella  came.  The  master  musician  and  the 
singer,  both  young  and  both  children  of  Venice,  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes,  and  with  a  mutual  sense  of  won- 
der the  singing  lessons  began. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  STRADELLA     285 

In  reference  to  this  situation  Bourdelot  remarks, 
naively:  "I  only  say  what  I  know  when  I  speak  of 
the  dangers  there  are  in  giving  3'oung  masters  to 
young  and  beautiful  ladies  to  teach  them  music.  For 
it  must  often  happen  that  an  amorous  song  sung  very 
tenderly  makes  an  impression  upon  the  heart  of  any 
young  person !" 

Burney  treats  the  matter  as  follows :  ".      .      .      Hor- 

tensia's  love  for  music  and  admiration  for  the  talents 

of  her  instructor,  by  frequent  access  soon  gave  birth 

to  a  passion  of  a  different  kind,  and  like  Heloise,  she 

found  that  though  at  first 

"  'Guiltless  she  gaz'd  and  listened  while  he  sung, 
While  science  flow'd  seraphic  from  his  tongue, 
From  lips  like  his  the  precepts  too  much  move: 
They  music  taught, — but  more,  alas!  to  love.' 

"And  accordingly  she  and  her  master  became  mu- 
tually enamoured  of  each  other." 

And  yet, — Bourdelot  and  Burney  to  the  contrary, 
— it  was  not  the  music.  It  was  youth,  and  fate, — and 
Venice ! 

The  enchantment  of  countless  centuries  hung  in 
impalpable  mists  above  the  room  where  they  worked 
and  sang  together, — the  enchantment  of  the  most 
mystically  wonderful  city  in  the  world.  All  the  ghosts 
of  dead  loves  and  forgotten  passions  that  li.id  <v(  r 
burned  themselves  out  beside  the  Adriatic  crowdid 
close  with  voiceless  wliispers.     How  should  StradcUa 


286  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

and  Ortensia,  thus  surrounded  with  magic,  resist  the 
spells  that  the  ancient  sages  knew  no  way  of  breaking? 

Moreover,  they  were  young,  and  the  world  was  a 
marvellous  place,  filled  with  all  manner  of  joys  and 
glories  for  two  lovers  young  and  strong  of  heart, 
who,  hand  in  hand,  should  go  forth  to  seek  them. 

So,  one  purple  and  silver  night,  when  the  wind  stole 
in  with  a  thrill  in  its  low  tone,  bearing  echoes  from 
the  song  of  the  Adriatic,  they  went  away  together. 
Stradella  drew  the  great  dark  cloak  about  Ortensia, 
and  covered  her  hair  with  its  big  hood,  and  helped  her 
into  the  gondola  that  was  waiting.  Then  they  glided 
away  among  the  shadows. 

Eastcott  says :  "It  was  a  fine  night." 
And  though  Signor  Muzzicato  may  disapprove  of  the 
unauthorised  statement,  no  one  else  will  find  fault  with 
it.  Yes,  it  was  a  fine  night,  even  if  the  stars  were 
obscured,  and  the  rain  drenched  the  hood  above  Orten- 
sia's  hair. 

Next  day  they  were  in  Rome. 

When  Contarini  discovered  the  flia-ht  of  the  woman 
he  loved  with  the  teacher  he  had  recommended,  his  rage 
was  supreme, — rage  against  her  quite  as  much  as 
against  Stradella.  The  nobleman  had  loved  Ortensia 
as  much  as  he  could  love  anyone,  but  when  he  knew 
that  she  had  eloped  with  another  man,  his  jealous  fury 
engulfed  all  milder  sentiments,  and  his  sole  desire  was 
for  revenge.     Consequently  he  sent  for  two  ruffians 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  STRADELLA     287 

known  to  be  beyond  scruples  when  it  was  a  matter  of 
money.  Men  called  them  assassins,  or  professional 
murderers.  He  ordered  them  to  follow  Stradella  and 
Ortensia  to  Rome,  where  he  had  found  that  they  had 
gone,  and  to  kill  them  both.  For  this  he  pi'omised 
the  men  one  hundred  pistoles,  fifty  to  be  paid  in  ad- 
vance, and  their  expenses !  The  assassins  were  satis- 
fied with  the  terms,  and  set  out  for  Rome. 

Now  it  chanced  that  upon  the  very  niirht  of  the 
cutthroats'  arrival  in  the  Eternal  City,  Stradella  was 
playing  his  new  Oratorio  upon  the  organ  of  St.  John 
Lateran.  The  Oratorio  was  "San  Giovanni  Battista," 
a  composition  in  two  parts,  which  is  still  celebrated. 
The  assassins,  in  order  to  gain  advantages  in  the  way 
of  time  and  opportunity,  entered  the  church.  And 
then,  according  to  the  historians  (or  romancers),  a 
wonderful  thing  happened. 

Stradella  sat  at  the  organ  pla^'ing.  There  is  a 
legend  that  he  plaj^ed  "Pieta,  Signor,"  the  great  re- 
ligious aria  which  is  on  sale  to-day  under  his  name. 
But  as  it  has  been  proved  conclusively  that  he  did  not 
even  write  this  song,  the  legend  loses  much  of  its  con- 
vincing quality.  It  was  almost  certainly  some  portion 
of  the  "San  Giovanni  Battista"  that  worked  the 
miracle.  The  assassins  were  overcome,  first  by  amaze- 
ment, then  admiration,  then  awe,  and  finally  penitence. 
To  kill  a  man  like  this, — a  man  who  could  bring 
Heaven  to  earth,  and  thrill  the  innermost  recesses  of 


288  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

the  soul  with  indescribable  harmonies !  Who  would 
dare  commit  such  a  crime?  The  impressive  religious 
atmosphere  and  the  beauty  of  the  music  so  played  upon 
the  emotions  of  the  ruffians  that  they  determined  to  go 
to  Stradella  and  tell  him  the  story  of  their  change  of 
heart ;  and  also  to  warn  him  of  Contarini's  blood- 
thirsty intentions. 

So,  when  the  musician  and  Ortensia  were  leaving  the 
church,  they  were  accosted  by  the  two  cutthroats,  who 
explained  the  situation  with  perfect  simplicity. 
Stradella  thanked  them  for  their  warning,  and  he  and 
Ortensia  acted  upon  it  promptly.  That  night  they 
left  for  Turin.  There  the  laws  were  known  to  be  very 
strict  and  the  military  organisation  most  complete, 
and  there  was  no  possibility  of  escape  for  any  criminal. 
The  two  reformed  assassins  went  back  to  Venice  and 
told  Contarini  that  the  fugitive  couple  had  left  Rome 
some  days  before,  and  gone  to  Turin.  Incidentally 
they  emphasised  the  hopelessness  of  murdering  any 
one  there,  where  the  only  places  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  law  were  the  embassies ! 

But  Contarini  had  by  no  means  abandoned  hope  yet. 
He  next  engaged  three  new  assassins,  dismissing  the 
first  two,  and  then  went  to  his  friend  the  Abbe  d'Es- 
trade,  French  Ambassador  to  Venice.  He  told  the 
Abbe  that  he  had  three  friends, — merchants  he  called 
them, — who  wished  to  go  to  Turin  on  business,  and 
he  asked  d'Estrade  to  give  them  letters  to  the  French 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  STRADELLA    289 

Ambassador  there.  The  letters  were  duly  forthcom- 
ing, and  the  three  "merchants"  departed  for  Turin. 
They  presented  their  letters  of  introduction,  and  M.  de 
Villars,  the  French  Ambassador,  received  them  with 
much  courtesy.  They  had  a  delightful  time,  call- 
ing at  the  embassy  daily,  it  is  said,  and  meeting 
numbers  of  charming  people  who  would  have  run  for 
their  lives  if  they  had  guessed  the  character  of  the 
three. 

Meanwhile,  Stradella  and  Ortensia  had  told  their 
story  to  the  Duchess  of  Savoy,  who  was  then  regent 
and  living  in  Turin  (Filibert  says  Christine  de  France, 
— Muzzicato,  Jeanne  de  Nemours ;  Bourdelot  calls  her 
merely  "la  Madame  Royale"  ) .  The  Regent  was  much 
interested,  and  most  apprehensive  for  their  safety.  She 
sent  Ortensia  to  a  convent  temporarily,  for  protection, 
and  appointed  Stradella  her  own  Maestro  di  Capella. 
But  even  these  kind  and  careful  efforts  were  not 
enough  to  protect  Stradella. 

One  evening,  just  as  it  had  begun  to  grow  nearly 
dusk,  Stradella  was  walking  on  the  ramparts  of  the 
city.  Suddenly  the  three  assassins  attacked  him, 
one  after  the  other  stabbing  him  with  their  daggers. 

Then,  as  he  fell  to  the  ground,  they  rushed  to  the 
house  of  the  French  Ambassador,  who  was  forced  to 
extend  them  shelter. 

As  the  news  spread  Turin  became  frantic.  The  en- 
tire town  was  in  an  uproar.     The  Regent  ordered  the 


290  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

city  gates  to  be  closed,  and  sent  men-at-arms  to  find 
the  criminals. 

Stradella  was  in  a  critical  condition,  but  there 
seemed  to  be  a  chance  for  his  recovery.  The  Regent 
gave  orders  that  everything  possible  should  be  done  for 
him,  and  indeed  proved  herself  a  rare  friend  in  need. 

When  the  assassins  were  known  to  be  in  the  French 
Embassy  she  and  all  Turin  demanded  of  the  Ambas- 
sador that  they  should  be  given  up  to  justice.  M.  de 
Villars,  however,  insisted  upon  protecting  them  until 
he  could  write  to  Venice  and  receive  explanations  from 
d'Estrade. 

The  Abbe  wrote  finally  that  he  had  known  nothing 
of  the  character  of  the  "merchants"  befriended  by 
Contarini,  and  expressed  his  indignation  that  two  am- 
bassadors should  have  been  so  tricked. 

Needless  to  say,  M.  de  Villars  harboured  the  cut- 
throats no  longer,  but,  as  Stradella  was  recovering,  he 
permitted  them  to  escape  from  the  town. 

When  Stradella  was  well  again,  the  "Madame 
Royale"  arranged  a  great  wedding  festival  for  Or- 
tensia  and  him  in  her  own  palace,  and  the  sky  seemed 
clear  again. 

But  though  Stradella  and  his  wife  loved  each  other 
deeply  and  were  very  happy  together,  they  both  recog- 
nised the  shadowy  danger  under  which  they  both  lived. 
Wherever  they  went  a  sword  hung  just  above  their 
heads.     They  did  not  know  when  it  would  fall. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  STRADELLA     291 

Five  years  after  the  Turin  episode  they  were  in 
Genoa.  Stradella  had  composed  a  cantata  called  "II 
Barcheggio,"  in  honour  of  the  marriage  of  Carlo 
Spinola  and  Paola  Brignole,  and  had  gone  to  Genoa 
for  the  rehearsals. 

One  night, — it  was  just  before  dawn, — the  instru- 
ments of  Contarini's  undying  hatred  and  vengeance 
broke  into  the  house  where  Stradella  and  Ortcnsia 
lived,  and,  creeping  to  their  apartment,  stabbed  each 
of  them  through  the  heart.  Then  the  murderers  fled 
away  through  the  darkness,  and  set  sail  just  as  dawn 
was  breaking.     They  were  never  heard  of  again. 

Stradella  and  Ortensia  died  at  one  and  the  same 
moment,  and  so  began  together  the  journey  whereof 
no  man  has  knowledge. 

There  is  an  old  French  saying  (which  Catelani 
mightily  resents)  to  this  effect:  "Songs  and  knife- 
thrusts  keep  close  company  in  musical  Italy !" 

But  no  one  knows  what  really  happened  after  all. 
It  is  only  a  romance,  you  see. 


PURCELL,  MASTER  OF  MUSICK 


V 

SONG  FROM  "THE  TEMPEST" 


E~s= 


Come    ua  -  to       tliese   yel 


-0—m 

low 


-•-ts-" 


liBTt 


sau.ls,  and    then     take      hands;       Foot     it,        feat  -  ly, 


;| 


9=r^- 


:Xl: 


S—KZ 


here       and     there,    and         let      sweet     sprites    the 


=i==?=*E^ 


=F=J=g= 


-* i^ 


=t=t: 


bur  -  den    bear.     Hark !      Hark  !  The  watch-dogs  hark ! 


\k 


^ *^— g: 


=t8=S: 


HarklHarkll      hear        the  strains    of      Chan  -  ti  -  cleer  1 


XV 
PURCELL,  MASTER  OF  MUSICK 


IF  you  should  walk  down  Old  Pye  Street  in  West- 
minster, you  would  come  to  St.  Anne's  Lane,  and 
there  you  would  pass  three  ancient  houses  of  red  brick 
standing  in  a  row, — dilapidated  monuments  to  seven- 
teenth century  London. 

At  present  they  are  peopled  by  ghosts  only,  but  in 
1658  the  inmates  were  quite  alive.  Perhaps  the  ghosts 
still  talk  over  the  old  days  when  "beer  and  skittles" 
were  something  better  than  memories.  The  phrase 
is  used  in  its  literal  sense,  for  the  first  house  in  the  row 
used  to  be  a  tavern,  and  the  second  the  entrance  to  the 
skittle  grounds !  The  tavern,  the  back  door  of  which 
it  was  that  opened  onto  St.  Anne's  Lane,  was  the  Sign 
of  the  Bell  and  Fish,  kept  by  Master  Oldsworth,  and 
great  were  the  merrymakings  within.  'Tis  said,  in- 
deed, that  Master  Oldsworth  lost  his  license  because  of 
them ! 

In  the  third  red  brick  lived  one  Master  Henry  Pur- 
cell,  Gentleman,  and  his  wife  Elizabeth, — the  parents 
of  England's  greatest  musical  genius. 

Henry  Purccll,  the  elder,  was  something  of  a  musi- 
cian and  a  good  actor,  and,  as  he  was  one  of  the  Gen- 


296  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

tlemen  of  the  Chapel  Royal  under  Charles  II.,  he  evl- 
dentl}'  could  sing.  He  was  one  of  those  "Gentlemen 
of  Musick,"  by  the  bye,  who  were  presented  with  four 
yards  of  "fine  scarlet"  for  a  gown  to  wear  at  the 
coronation  services. 

Pepys  mentions  him  as  a  "Master  of  Musique." 

".  .  .  After  dinner  I  went  back  to  Westminster 
Hall.  Here  I  met  with  Messrs.  Lock  and  Purcell,  Mas- 
ters of  Musique,  and  with  them  to  the  coffee-house,  into 
a  room  next  the  water,  by  ourselves,  where  we  spent  an 
hour  or  two.     .     .      ." 

Matthew  Lock  was  a  close  friend  of  the  elder  Pur- 
cell (and  later  of  his  illustrious  son  also),  and  in- 
deed had  acted  with  him  in  musical  plays.  Two  years 
before,  Sir  William  Davenant  had  taken  a  room  be- 
hind Rutland  House,  Aldersgate  Street,  for  private 
dramatic  productions,  and  there  both  Purcell  and  Lock 
had  appeared  in  "The  Siege  of  Rhodes." 

"Captain  Cooke"  acted  in  the  same  performance, 
for  which  he  had  also  composed  a  portion  of  the  music. 
The  productions  of  Davenant  were  attended  by  the 
strictest  secrecy,  of  course, — stage  performances  be- 
ing against  Parliamentary  laws  in  those  dark  and 
bigoted  days. 

Lock  was  Composer  in  Ordinary  to  Charles  II.,  and 
had  written  the  music  for  "Ye  King's  sagbutts  and 
cornets,"  which  accompanied  Charles's  passage  from 
the  Tower  to  Whitehall  at  the  time  of  his  coronation. 


PURCELL,  MASTER  OF  MUSICK     297 

In  1658,  Henry  Purcell,  the  composer,  was  born. 

He  could  barely  have  made  his  advent  into  the 
world  at  an  era  more  utterly  in  need  of  a  musical 
genius.  During  the  Puritan  sway  of  the  Common- 
wealth England  had  been  utterly  without  music.  The 
tale  of  how  musical  church  services  were  abolished, 
all  song-books  obtainable  destroyed,  organs  hacked  to 
pieces,  and  musicians  and  stage-folk  practically  beg- 
gared is  too  well  known  to  need  recountal.  England 
had  been  not  only  gloom}',  cold  and  fettered  during 
Cromwell's  ascendancy,  but  dumb  as  well.  Organ- 
builders, — indeed  nearl}'  all  the  instrument-makers, — 
had  fled  the  country,  theatres  were  non-existent,  and 
there  was  not  a  chorister  in  all  England ! 

Such  musical  elements  as  remained  had  been  pre- 
served by  a  patient  and  art-loving  few  who  had  waited 
in  faith  for  the  lifting  of  the  darkness  and  the  dawn- 
ing of  the  Restoration. 

With  the  coronation  of  Charles  confusion  reigned 
in  the  English  art-world.  It  took  years  to  train  boys 
for  the  choirs,  build  new  organs,  and  establish  new 
theatrical  organisations.  So  comprehensive  had  been 
the  work  of  destruction  that  the  men  who  had  at  heart 
the  welfare  of  the  national  music  were  almost  in  de- 
spair. 

Moreover,  Charles  himself  was  of  small  assistance 
in  the  musical  recovery.  He  had  brought  with  him 
from  exile  a  love  for  frivolou.s  songs  and  light  dances, 


298  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

and  cared  very  little  for  genuinely  artistic  music. 
Later,  however,  he  admired  the  singer  Gostling  so 
greatly  that  he  gave  him  a  silver  egg  filled  with 
guineas,  remarking  that  "he  had  heard  that  eggs  were 
good  for  the  voice !" 

Altogether  music  in  England  was  at  its  lowest  ebb 
when  Henry  Purcell  was  born, — though  it  should  be 
added  that  during  the  years  immediately  following  the 
progress  made  in  an  artistic  direction  was  magnificent. 
Though  no  great  genius  appeared  before  Purcell  be- 
gan to  compose,  the  average  of  ability  among  these 
musicians  of  the  Restoration  was  excellent. 

From  his  babyhood  Henry,  or,  as  everyone  called 
him,  Harry  Purcell  was  so  wonderful  and  exquisite  a 
being  that  he  was  known  to  all  London  as  "the  Beau- 
tiful Purcell."  Some  sketches  of  him  still  in  existence 
show  his  face  to  have  been  rarely  delicate  and  sensi- 
tive, the  eyes  full  of  dreams,  and  the  broad  forehead 
a  patent  of  intellectuality.  He  loved  all  beautiful 
things,  but  especially  those  which  appealed  chiefly  to 
his  imagination.  Lovely  as  he  found  the  actualities 
of  the  green  earth,  he  had  even  a  deeper  tenderness  for 
those  ethereal  creations  of  his  own  fancy.  Therein  we 
Bee  the  manifestation  of  his  superb  creative  faculty. 
It  seems,  in  studying  his  work,  that  the  entire  range 
of  natural  emotions  was  too  narrow  for  its  full  expres- 
sion, and  that  it  reverted  perforce  to  the  additional 
opportunities  offered  by  the  supernatural.     No  man 


PURCELL,  MASTER  OF  MUSICK     299 

ever  heard  such  elfin  melodies,  and,  having  heard,  im- 
prisoned them  in  his  music  as  did  he.  As  a  very  tiny 
child  he  must  have  absorbed  the  essence  of  fairy-tales 
as  he  breathed  the  air. 

His  father  had  dreams  of  the  boy's  becoming  a  com- 
poser, and  knowing  his  own  health  to  be  in  a  very 
fragile  condition,  appointed  his  brother  Thomas  as 
Harry's  guardian.  Thomas  Purcell  also  was  a  singer 
in  the  Chapel  Royal,  and  a  musician  of  fairly  thorough 
training.  These  plans  for  Harry's  education  and 
welfare  were  not  made  too  soon,  for  when  the  child 
was  barely  six  years  old  his  father  died  from  consump- 
tion,— a  tendency  to  which  it  is  probable  that  the  com- 
poser inherited. 

So  deep  was  Thomas  Purcell's  love  for  his  nephew 
that  he  always  spoke  of  him  as  "My  son  Harry,"  and 
was  enormously  proud  of  his  ability.  He  was  a  rarely 
kindly  and  generous  man,  and  his  one  effort  was  that 
Harry  should  have  every  comfort,  advantage  and 
pleasure  obtainable ; — this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he 
was  far  from  rich.  The  "Gentlemen  of  his  Majcstie's 
Private  Musick,"  as  they  were  called,  did  not  grow 
affluent. 

Pepys  says:  "Many  of  the  Musiquc  are  ready  to 
starve,  they  being  five  years  behindhand  for  their 
wages."  That  Thomas  Purcell  was  no  exception  to 
these  common  conditions  is  shown  by  the  record  of  a 
payment  made  to  him  in  1672,  by  the  Court  Treasurer, 


300  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

which  reads:  ".  .  .  Due  for  fower  yeares  and 
three-quarters  ended  at  Mic'mas." 

The  year  of  his  father's  death  Harry  Purcell  en- 
tered the  boy's  choir  of  the  Chapel  Royal.  He  was 
just  six  years  old  when  he  thus  began  his  musical 
career.  It  is  said  that  at  this  time  he  Avas  as  beautiful 
as  a  small  angel,  and  possessed  of  a  voice  in  keeping 
with  the  image. 

His  master  was  a  man  who  will  always  be  a  most  in- 
teresting figure, — Captain  Cooke,  the  "Master  of  the 
Children  of  the  Chapel." 

Captain  Cooke  it  was,  by  the  bye,  who  had  ap- 
peared with  Matthew  Locke  and  Harry's  father  in 
Davenant's  secret  entertainment  in  the  room  back  of 
Rutland  House.  He  was  a  very  good  teacher,  and 
several  of  his  pupils  besides  Purcell  won  distinction  in 
later  years, — notably  John  Blow,  William  Turner  and 
Pelham  Humphrey,  the  follower  of  Lully.  There  is 
a  story  to  the  effect  that  Humphrey  did  so  much  better 
work  than  his  master  that  Captain  Cooke  "died  of 
jealousy  in  1672."  The  date  of  his  death  is  accurate, 
but  for  the  cause  stated  it  is  difficult  for  a  mere 
biographer  to  vouch ! 

Cooke  had  been  a  chorister,  a  student,  and  finally  a 
teacher,  in  the  Chapel  Royal  of  Charles  I.  When 
the  Civil  War  started  he  gave  up  singing  for  fighting, 
and  was  a  captain  in  the  King's  army.  A  red-hot 
Royalist,  he  would  have  liked  to  have  murdered  all  the 


PURCELL,  MASTER  OF  MUSICK     301 

founders  and  warders  of  the  Commonwealth,  begin- 
ning with  Cromwell,  and  finishing  with  the  least  obnox- 
ious Puritan  citizen !  When  Charles  II.  came  to  the 
throne,  Cooke's  services  were  recognised  by  his  instal- 
ment as  "Master  of  the  Children."  Though  he  had 
been  a  musician  before  being  a  soldier,  he  derived  im- 
mense joy  from  his  military'  experience,  and  clung  fast 
to  his  title  of  Captain  till  the  day  of  his  death. 

Under  him  Harry  Purcell  made  such  brilliant  prog- 
ress that  when  he  was  eleven  years  old  he  began  to 
compose.  His  first  effort  was  characteristically  dar- 
ing. He  set  to  music  of  a  tolerably  pretentious  charac- 
ter the  address  of  the  children  to  King  Charles  on  the 
occasion  of  the  royal  birthday.  The  title,  or  dedica- 
tion, of  the  composition  read : 

"The  Address  of  the  Children  of  the  Chapel  Royal 
to  the  King,  and  to  their  Master,  Captain  Cooke,  on 
His  Majesty's  birthday,  A.D.  1670.  Composed  by 
Master  Purcell,  one  of  the  Children  of  the  said 
Chapel." 

In  1672  Captain  Cooke  died,  and  his  place  in  the 
Chapel  Royal  was  filled  by  Pelham  Humphrey,  who 
was  then  twenty-five,  and  almost  at  the  end  of  his  brief 
but  remarkable  career.  He  was  Harry  Purcell's  master 
until  his  own  death  in  1674,  when  Harry  completed 
his  studies  under  Dr.  Blow, — who  had  been  another  of 
Cooke's  pupils,  and  one  of  the  first  choristers  ever 
trained  after  the  Restoration. 


302  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Upon  Blow's  tomb,  according  to  his  request,  is  the 
inscription : 

"Master  to  the  famous  Mr.  H.  Purcell." 

Purcell  studied  ceaselessly,  although  his  genius,  as 
has  been  pointed  out  by  many  writers,  was  of  that 
vivid  and  inspirational  order  which  appears  to  require 
but  little  rigid  education.  He  has  been  compared  to 
Mozart  in  this  respect. 

In  1680, — when  he  was  twenty-two, — so  great  was 
his  genius  and  so  marvellous  his  work,  that  Dr.  Blow, 
then  organist  of  Westminster  Abbey,  resigned  his 
position  in  his  favour.  This  post  will  always  be 
closely  associated  with  Purcell,  and  until  his  death  re- 
mained one  of  the  chief  sources  of  pride  and  happi- 
ness in  his  life. 

And  so  the  "Beautiful  Purcell"  sat  at  the  great 
Westminster  organ,  and  created  giant  harmonies,  that 
stormed,  and  surged,  and  died  away  in  angelic  whis- 
pers down  the  echoing  cathedral  aisles.  The  visions 
which  must  have  come  to  him  as  he  played  were  surely 
of  things  beyond  the  conception  of  ordinary  mortals. 
For  his  were  eyes  that  had  been  touched  by  the  miracle 
of  divine  sight. 

Yet  he  was  delightfully  human, — so  human  that 
some  persons,  mistaking  infectious  and  genial  merri- 
ment for  unseemly  levity,  and  a  love  for  good  fellow- 
ship, for  a  taste  for  carousal  and  dissipation,  have 


PURCELL,  MASTER  OF  MUSICK     303 

marred  his  memory  with  derogatory  stories, — which 
seem,  luckily,  to  bear  the  hall-mark  of  untruth. 

It  was  during  the  year  of  his  appointment  as  organ- 
ist to  the  Abbey  that  he  wrote  his  famous  opera  "Dido 
and  vEneas." 

At  this  time  one  Mr.  Josias  Prast,  erstwhile  theatri- 
cal dancing-master,  was  the  principal  of  a  "Boarding 
School  for  Young  Gentlewomen  at  Chelsey,  removed 
from  Leicester  Fields.  .  .  ."  It  was  at  his  school 
that  "Dido"  was  performed.  We  read  that  it  was 
"Given  by  the  young  gentlewomen,  the  words  being 
made  by  Master  Nate  [^Xahan]  Tate,  the  music  com- 
posed by  Master  Henry  Purcell.  .  .  .  The  Epi- 
logue was  spoken  by  the  Lady  Dorothy  Burke." 

Purcell  is  reported  to  have  sung  one  of  the  roles 
himself, — and  that  a  feminine  one !  The  accounts  of 
the  performance  are  vague  and  fragmentary,  but  the 
opera-score  itself  is  its  own  best  witness  as  to  its  value. 
In  "Dido's  Lament"  Purcell  achieved  the  task  of  writ- 
ing a  complete,  spontaneous  and  varied  melody,  with 
an  unchanging  "ground  bass"  of  five  bars, — and  one 
built  upon  the  chromatic  scale  at  that ! 

The  following  year,  when  Purcell  was  twenty-three, 
he  married.  His  bride  was  Frances  Peters,  the  daugh- 
ter of  "Thomas  Peters,  Gentleman,  of  St,  Clement's 
Danes." 

We  know  very  little  of  Frances  Purcell, — his  "love- 
ing  wife,"  as  he  calls  her  in  his  will, — but  from  certain 


304      '  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

little  over-scrupulous  observances  of  her  dead  hus- 
band's wishes  in  after  years,  we  may  believe  her  to  have 
been  a  woman  both  of  sentiment  and  principle.  Their 
life  was  not  always  happy,  for  they  lost  several  chil- 
dren, and  met  many  of  the  griefs  and  trials  common 
to  the  most  blessed  of  human  beings,  but  on  the  whole 
it  seems  to  have  been  a  most  fortunate  and  happy  mar- 
riage. The  persons  who  seem  to  like  to  make  Mistress 
Purcell  out  a  cross  between  a  ghoul  and  a  murderess 
fail,  happily,  to  produce  testimony  for  their  supposi- 
tions. 

So  far  from  being  the  hard  and  untender  woman  of 
these  legends,  there  is  evidence  to  show  that  Frances 
Purcell  was,  in  all  ways  and  at  all  times,  the  ''loveing 
wife"  which  her  husband  termed  her.  And  as  the 
document  in  which  this  phrase  occurred,  and  which 
left  all  his  worldly  goods  to  her,  was  made  out  when 
he  was  upon  his  death-bed,  the  inference  seems  a  fairly 
definite  refutation  of  the  canards  circulated  against 
her.  Her  own  tender  remembrance  of  her  husband, — 
not  only  in  her  well-known  dedication  of  the  "Orpheus 
Britannicus"  (a  collection  of  his  songs)  to  Lady  Eliza- 
beth Howard,  but  in  the  records  of  her  life, — seem  to 
clear  his  name  also  from  the  slanders  of  the  unthink- 
ing or  malicious. 

It  is  true  that  Purcell  loved  gay  companionship, 
good  wine,  and  merrymaking  of  all  kinds.  Hogarth 
says  that  "he  appears  to  have  been  gay  and  good- 


PURCELL,  MASTER  OF  MUSICK     305 

humoured  and  of  social  habits."  He  loved  to  wander 
about  London  with  those  two  witty  scapegraces,  Tom 
Brown  and  Tom  D'Urfey.  Who  loved  a  clever  phrase 
or  a  keen  jest  better  than  Harry  Purccll?  And  who 
was  more  welcome  at  a  gathering  of  congenial  souls, — 
whether  in  an  ale-house  or  the  Court  of  King  Charles? 
Lock,  his  father's  old  friend,  loved  him  dearly,  and 
was  never  content  to  spend  a  merry  evening  without 
"Harrv." 

"Dear  Harry  (we  find  him  writing)  :  Some  of  the 
Gentlemen  of  His  Majestie's  Musick  will  honour  my 
poor  lodgings  this  evening,  and  I  would  have  you  come 
and  join  them;  bring  with  thee,  Harr}',  thy  last 
anthem,  and  also  the  canon  we  tried  over  together  at 
our  last  meeting.      Thine  in  all  kindness, 

"M.  Lock." 

Tom  Brown  is  too  well  known  a  figure  in  the  history 
of  English  literature  to  require  much  comment.  All 
the  word  knows  the  truth  of  what  Hogarth  says: 
"Brown  lived  in  ale-houses  and  taverns,  employing  his 
own  ingenuity  in  baffling  his  creditors  and  their  emis- 
saries, the  bailiffs ;  and  Purcell,  with  others  who  de- 
lighted in  the  brilliancy  of  his  conversation,  was  too 
often  the  partaker  of  his  vigils. 

But  what  could  one  expect  when,  in  addition  to  the 
charm   of   Tom    Brown's    personality,   there   was   the 


306  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

magic  of  a  place  like  Cobweb  Hall  to  be  taken  into 
consideration?  For  "Cobweb  Hall"  was  the  delicious 
name  of  the  public-house  most  frequented  by  these  men 
of  genius.  It  was  kept  by  one  Master  Owen  Swan, 
and  it  stood  in  Bartholomew  Lane.  Swan  was  a  vintner 
possessed  of  a  well-stocked  cellar,  and  the  wine,  that 
ran  in  rivulets  of  purple-red  from  dusk  till  dawning, 
was  of  the  best.  Hour  after  hour  Tom  Brown  would 
tell  his  tales,  and  crack  his  jokes,  and  drink  his  wine  or 
ale.  And  Tom  D'Urfey,  that  inexpressibly  coarse  but 
inexpressibly  amusing  and  imaginative  humourist, 
would  find  many  a  jest  with  which  to  touch  off  the  fire 
of  the  greater  brain. 

And  Purcell  would  listen,  keenly  alive  to  the  shafts    *i 
of  wit  flying  about, — and  put  in  a  word  or  two  now 
and  then,  or  else  fall  to  dreaming,  suddenly  penning 
in  his  brain  the  filmy  phrases  of  an  elfin  melody,  or 
the  thrill  and  dramatic  splendour  of  a  "mad  song." 

It  was  such  fanciful  themes  which  pleased  him  best. 
And  never,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  save  in  "The  Tempest" 
and  in  Dryden's  "King  Arthur,"  did  he  find  such 
congenial  inspiration  as  in  the  "mad  lyrics"  in  "The 
Fool's  Preferment."  And  D'Urfey, — the  author  of 
"Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy,"  positively ! — wrote  it. 

When  one  knows  Purcell's  peculiar  genius  for  deal- 
ing with  the  fantastic  and  fanciful,  it  is  easy  to  see 
how  he  was  able  to  compose  one  of  his  finest  songs 
upon  the  following  stanzas, — supposed,  by  the  bye, 


PURCELL,  MASTER  OF  MUSICK     307 

to  be  sung  by  a  young  lover  who  has  gone  mad  because 
of  his  lady's  disdain : 

"I'll  sail  upon  the  Dog-star, 

And  then  pursue  the  morning! 
I'll  chase  the  Moon  till  it  be  noon, 
But  I'll  make  her  leave  her  Horning. 

"I'll  climb  the  frosty  Mountain, 
And  there  I'll  coin  the  weather; 
I'll  tear  the  Rainbow  from  the  sky. 
And  tie  both  ends  together. 

"The  stars  pluck  from  their  orbs,  too. 
And  crowd  them  in  my  budget: 
And,  whether   I'm  a  roaring  boy, — 
Let  all  the  nation  judge  it!" 

"The  Fool's  Preferment"  was  written  for  William 
Mountford.  "He  sung  a  clear  counter  tenor,"  says 
Colley  Gibber,  "and  had  a  melodious,  warbling  voice." 
It  was  Mountford  who  interfered  with  the  plot  of 
Lord  Mohun  and  Captain  Hill  to  abduct  Anne  Brace- 
girder,  the  actress,  and  who  subsequently  was  stabbed 
to  death  by  way  of  revenge. 

Purcell  was  noted  for  his  wonderfully  beautiful 
musical  odes  to  the  crowned  heads  which  it  was  his  fate 
to  serve.  He  wrote  quantities  of  odes  for  Charles  H., 
and  in  168.5  he  had  a  new  ode  of  welcome  for  James  H., 
— and  another  for  his  coronation.  Still  later,  when 
James  had  departed  and  WiHiam  and  Mary  reigned, 
he  composed  more  and  still  more  odes.     With  all  his 


308  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

sincerit}'  and  simplicity,  one  is  tempted  at  times  to 
suspect  the  making  of  a  very  finished  courtier  in  "the 
Beautiful  Purcell !" 

In  1687  Purcell  wrote  a  "March  and  Quickstep" 
which  have  since  become  famous  nearly  all  over  the 
world.  It  happened  that  the  Earl  of  Tyrconnel,  a 
renowned  Papist,  had  just  been  made  Lord  Lieutenant 
of  Ireland  by  James  II.  In  1688  he  was  re-nomi- 
nated. This  fact,  annoying  Lord  Wharton,  the  Irish 
Viceroy  (who  for  political  reasons  had  desired  to  see 
Tyrconnel  defeated), — he  raked  up  some  seemingly 
doggerel  verses  with  the  refrain  of  "Lilli,  lilli,  lilli 
burlero,"  and  set  them  to  Purcell's  Quickstep, 

Then  he  gave  the  song  to  the  army,  who  loved  it, 
and  improvised  fresh  verses.  Lord  Wharton  con- 
trived to  insinuate  an  enormous  amount  of  the  neces- 
sary political  feeling  into  the  military  ranks  through 
this  seemingly  innocent  channel. 

"Ho,  broder  Teague,  dost  hear  de  decree? 
(Lilli  burlero,  bullen  a  la!)" 

Thus  it  ran: 

"Dat  we  shall  have  a  new  deputy, — 
(Lilli  burlero,  bullen  a  la!) 
Lero,  lero,  lilli  burlero,"  etc. 

"Perhaps  never,"  says  Bishop  Burnet,  "had  so 
slight  a  thing  so  great  an  effect." 

For  it  was  successful, — oh,  decidedly!     "Through 


PURCELL,  MASTER  OF  MUSICK     309 


that  song,"  vowed  Lord  Wharton,  "I  have  sung  a  de- 
luded prince  out  of  three  kingdoms  !" 

Dr.  Charles  Mackay  insists  that  the  refrain  of  this 
song  was  not  "doggerel"  but  an  old  Celtic  phrase.  It 
was  partly  written  by  a  well-known  Irish  writer, — 
author  of  the  "Irish  Hudibras,"  and  Dr.  Mackay  finds 
in  its  apparently  nonsensical  syllables  the  germs  of  a 
druidical  chant : 

"Li!  Li  Beur!  lear-a!  Buille  na  la!  (Light!  Light  on  the 
sea  beyond  the  promontory!  'Tis  the  stroke  [or  dawn]  of  the 
morning!)" 

The  Quickstep  starts  off  as  follows : 


f 


-fro     I        ^      i 

— u •—. ^ ■- 


*==S= 


-g~ 


f 


=?= 


Ho,  bioder  Teague  dost  hear  de  de-crec?  Lilli  burlcro,  bullen 
a  la! 
Purcell's  amazingly  prolific  gift  will  not  permit  the 
enumeration  of  his  compositions,  which  comprised 
songs,  operas,  church  music,  and  every  form  of  musical 
effort.  His  two  greatest  achievements  always  will  be 
bones  of  contention  among  musicians,  for  no  one  can 
decide  which  is  the  greater, — the  most  truly  inspired: 
"The  Tempest"  or  "King  Arthur."  In  a  choice  of 
lyrics  one  hesitates  between  "Full  fatluun  five"  and 
"Let  not  a  moon-bound  elf  mislead  you ;"  and  l)etwcen 


310  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

"Come  unto  these  yellow  sands"  and  "Two  daughters 
of  this  aged  stream." 

All  have  the  fanciful,  magical  quality  which  dis- 
closes Purcell  at  his  best.  But  on  the  whole  it  is  the 
"Tempest"  music  which  best  stands  the  test  of  time 
and  familiarity.  The  "ding-dong"  melody  of  "Full 
fathom  five"  is  well  known : 


^ 


m^^^^^^^ 


"Full  five  fathom  thy  father  lies     .     .     ." 

The  pianissimo  chorus,  "Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring 
his  knell,"  is  the  most  mystical,  dream-like  thing  imagi- 
nable. 

Many  persons  insist  that  "King  Arthur"  (composed 
1691)  is  Purcell's  master-work,  but  melodious  and 
powerful  as  it  is,  it  lacks  the  freshness,  freedom,  and 
charm  of  the  two  famous  songs  from  "The  Tempest." 

His  anthems  and  settings  of  the  church  services  are 
still  used  by  organists  with  sufficient  artistic  percep- 
tion, and  are  uniformly  beautiful. 

Of  his  single  songs,  "I  attempt  from  Love's  Sick- 
ness to  fly,"  is  generally  considered  the  greatest.  The 
most  dramatic  without  question,  and  the  most  interest- 
ing (in  this  Hogarth  and  many  other  writers  agree)  is 
his  celebrated  "Mad  Bess," — sometimes  called  "Bess 
of  Bedlam."  Particularly  expressive  is  the  music  ac- 
companying the  lines: 


PURCELL,  MASTER  OF  MUSICK     311 

"Poor  Bess  will  return  to  the  place  whence  she  came; 

Since   the  world   is   so  mad   she  can   hope   for  no  cure: 
For  Love's  grown  a  bubble,  a  shadow,  a  name. 
That  fools  do  adore,  and  wise  men  endure." 

One  day  Queen  iNIary,  being  in  the  mood  for  music, 
sent  for  Purcell,  Gostling,  and  Arabella  Hunt,  the 
great  soprano, — she  to  whom  Congreve  wrote  the  ode : 
"To  Mistress  Arabella  Hunt,  singing."  Purcell  was 
the  accompanist,  and,  as  a  matter  of  courtesy  alone, 
might  reasonably  have  expected  to  be  asked  for  one 
of  his  own  compositions, — especially  as  he  had  written 
many  for  Mistress  Hunt.  To  his  chagrin  and  the 
amusement  of  the  other  artists,  the  Queen's  first  request 
was  for  the  popular  country  ballad,  "Cold  and 
raw !" 

The  Queen's  birthday  followed  close  upon  this  epi- 
sode, and  Purcell,  in  setting  to  music  Sir  Charles 
Sedley's  ode  in  honour  of  the  occasion  ("Love's  God- 
dess sure  was  Blind"),  built  his  bass  upon  the  air  of 
"Cold  and  raw !"  So  marked  was  this  melody  that 
the  Queen  could  not  fail  to  recognise  it,  and  she  was 
duly  surprised.  William  H.  Husk  sa3's:  "Purcell, 
nettled  at  finding  a  common  ballad  preferred  to  his 
music,  but  seeing  it  pleased  the  Queen,  determined  that 
she  should  hear  it  again  when  she  least  expected 
it!" 

The  story  regarding  Purccll's  death,  which  is  so 
irritating  to  just  and  rational  minds,  is  that  Purcell 


312  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

having  remained  too  late  at  a  tavern,  one  winter  night, 
his  wife  refused  to  admit  him  on  his  return  ;  and  that 
he,  catching  a  severe  cold  from  the  exposure,  died  as 
a  result  of  Mistress  Purcell's  rigid  discipline.  Now, 
putting  all  other  questions  aside,  it  seems  incredible 
that  any  man  of  human  intelligence  would  stand 
meekly  on  his  doorstep  until  morning  freezing  to 
death.     Were  there,  then,  no  taverns  open  still.? 

Fortunately  almost  every  modern  historian  has  done 
his  best  to  explode  this  monstrous  tradition.  The 
probable,  if  not  certain,  truth  of  the  matter  is  that 
Purcell  inherited  his  father's  phthisical  tendency,  and 
that  some  trifling  cold  during  severe  weather  termi- 
nated in  inflammation  of  the  lungs,  and  thus  death. 
More  space  need  not  be  given  to  the  absurd  hypothesis 
accepted  for  so  many  years. 

Henry  Purcell  died  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-seven. 
What  he  might  have  done  and  been,  had  death  not  in- 
tervened, no  man  can  say.  He  was  one  of  those 
prodigious  geniuses  whose  vigour  and  inspiration  are 
lavished  in  such  abundance  that,  from  sheer  cosmic 
economy.  Fate  can  only  permit  them  a  few  decades  of 
activity.  Whom  the  gods  love  die  young ;  and  if  ever 
man  bore  the  insignia  of  divine  approbation  it  was 
"the  Beautiful  Purcell." 

He  died  on  the  21st  of  November,  1698,  upon  the 
eve  of  the  Feast  of  St.  Cecilia,  the  patron  saint  of 
music.      Cummings,  who  better  than   any  one  alive, 


PURCELL,  MASTER  OF  MUSICK     313 

perhaps,  knows  the  life  and  work  of  the  great  English 
master,  gives  the  following  hypothetical  but  beauti- 
ful account  of  his  death : 

".  .  .  In  a  house  on  the  west  side  of  Dean's 
Yard,  Westminster,  in  a  darkened  chamber,  the  dying 
musician  was  lying  on  the  couch,  in  full  possession  of 
all  his  faculties,  as  he  himself  had  just  said  in  his  will, 
but  with  a  thorough  knowledge  that  he  was  about  to 
pass  into  the  land  of  shadows.  He  could  possibl}^  hear 
some  faint  murmurs  of  the  evensong  service  wafted 
from  the  old  Abbey  close  by,  perhaps  some  well-re- 
membered phrase  of  one  of  his  own  soul-stirring 
anthems.  The  psalm  of  the  da}'  which  would  be 
chanted  at  that  evening  service  concluded  with  words 
which  he  had  set  to  music  the  world  was  not  likely  soon 
to  forget, — music  which  still  remains  unsurpassed  in 
truthfulness  and  dignity.  A  more  noble  or  a  more 
fitting  death  chant  for  a  child  of  song  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find. 

"  '  Blessed  is  the  Lord  God  of  Israel, 
From  everlasting  world  without  end. 
And  let  all  the  people  say    Amen.'" 

He  had  written  some  grave  and  touching  music  for 
Queen  Mary's  funeral  a  short  time  before,  and  it  was 
this  music  which  was  played  at  his  own  last  service. 

The  tombstone,  erected  by  Lady  Elizabeth  Howard, 
bears  this  inscription: 


314  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

"Here  lies 

Henry  Purcell,  Esq., 

Who  left  this  life 

And  is  gone  to  that  blessed  place 

Where  only  his  own  harmony  can  be  excelled. 

Oblit  21  mo — die  Novembris, 
Anno  Aetiitis  suae  37  mo, 
Annoque  Domine   1695." 

Beneath  this  is  the  epitaph  beginning  "Plaudite, 
filias  suplir  tanto  hospite,"  which,  translated,  runs  as 
follows : 

"Applaud    so    great    a    guest,    celestial    powers, 
Who  now  resides  with  you,  but  once  was  ours: — 
Yet  let  invidious  earth  no  more  proclaim 
Her  short-lived   favourite  and  her  chiefest  fame, 
Complaining  that  so  prematurely  died 
Good-nature's  pleasure  and  devotion's  pride. 
Died  ?  No !  he  lives  while  yonder  organs  sound. 
And  sacred  echoes  to  the  choir  rebound." 


SONGS   OF  THE   GREAT  TERROR 


THE  MARSEILLAISE 


i 


^^^ 


-g — r- 


I        I        I        I: 


A -rise,  oh,  children    of     the    land,  .  .      The  day  of 


^ 


?^=# 


^^=K= 


t=t 


-g — e: 


i^     i< 


^ 


glo  -  ry    lights  the    sky !        Now  the  com  -  ing  ty  -  rant 


^^ 


-r      f      f 


-m^^^m- 


:5= 


m^-^^^m- 


^^ 


*=fe 


I       [ 


band, 


It's 


blood-red  pen  -  nons         fly.        It's 


bSig '  i'^^\:3^^^^^^^r=^^ 


blood-red   pen  -  nons      fly  I    And,  hark!  how  o'er  your  fields  are 


^ 


-Jt=m=M=w=^ 


±Mz 


*     g 


call  -  ing.         The    sav  -  age    in-va-ders    to-day:      The 


bm  •_^- 


-»— r- 


±ac 


C^=t 


-w—t?    U    ><i 


ta==^=# 


3» *- 


Child  you  cherish  they  will  slay;     All  your  comrades  soon  will  be 


i 


^ 


=^=5= 


f 


-m  •  0' 


-p  T  q 


fall  -  ing. 


To      arms !     The  foe    is     there!        Oh, 


-J?=^. 


?^=±: 


cit 


1  -  zens,  pre  -  pare !  March  on  I      March  on  I 


f 


-1     i=lg- 


r=?     »- 


-w—r- 


=W=g=^: 


And     with  his  blood 


en  -  rich       our  meadows  fair  I 


XVI 


SONGS   OF   THE   GREAT  TERROR 


"THE  officials  note  that  large  numbers  of  sinister- 
looking  men  pass  the  barriers  inwards.  .  .  .  The 
general  aspect  of  the  mob  changes ;  it  contains  now  a 
quantity  of  strangers  from  all  parts  of  the  country, 
mostly  in  rags  and  armed  with  great  sticks,  whose 
look  is  very  menacing.  .  .  .  Vagabonds,  ragged 
fellows,  many  almost  naked,  with  appalling  faces — 
beings  one  does  not  remember  to  have  seen  by 
daylight, — a  frightful  physiognomy,  a  hideous  at- 
tire.     .      .      ." 

Thus  Taine.  And  so,  in  a  few  words,  we  have  a 
picture  of  that  ominous  time  just  before  the  dammed- 
up  fury  of  centuries  rose  to  engulf  the  existing  powers, 
good  and  evil  alike.  "Beings  one  does  not  remember 
to  have  seen  by  daylight."  Of  what  deadly  signifi- 
cance is  that  phrase !  These  were  the  days  when  the 
strange  and  fiendish  night-birds  might  fly  in  the  broad 
sunlight,  when  Vice  had  no  need  to  skulk  in  alley-ways, 
and  when  the  spirits  of  Murder  and  Madness  gloated 
over  the   goodly   harvest  to   come.     For  it   was   the 


318  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

memorable  spring  of  1794, — the  beginning  of  the 
Great  Terror. 

So  much  has  been  written  of  this  frightful  but  ab- 
sorbing period  of  French  history,  that  it  would  be 
absurd  to  venture  even  a  casual  account  of  it  here.  It 
is  not  the  Revolution  with  which  we  have  to  do  so  much 
as  its  songs, — of  which  there  was  an  amazingly  large 
crop.  As  in  every  great  national  movement,  the  peo- 
ple's emotions  were  poured  into  music.  Find  a  nation 
who  does  not  sing  its  great  moments  and  you  will  find 
a  dumb  people. 

Constant  Pierre  says  that  there  were  nearly  three 
thousand  lyrics  born  of  the  Revolution.  Everyone 
sang,  the  nobles  and  the  citizens,  the  butchers  and  the 
butchered,  the  prisoners  and  the  gaolers.  The  songs 
they  sang  covered  the  entire  range  of  emotions  awak- 
ened by  the  Terror,  but  in  each  and  all  one  quality 
predominated, — a  wild  and  savage  gaiety.  There  is 
not  a  song  of  this  period  without  a  thrill  in  it. 

Most  of  them  were  merely  new  verses  set  to  old  airs, 
but  not  only  were  the  tunes  chosen  of  a  peculiarly 
stirring  character,  but  the  words  written  for  them  were 
of  the  sort  to  galvanise  a  Gregorian  chant  into  some- 
thing spirited  and  electrifying. 

For  us  the  songs  have  the  additional  fascination, 
albeit  of  a  gruesome  order,  of  their  terrible  associa- 
tions. No  one  to-day  can  hear  "La  Cannaguole"  and 
*'Ca  ira"  without  a  mental  picture  of  a  crowd  of  howl- 


SONGS  OF  THE  GREAT  TERROR     319 

ing,  singing  savages,  carrying  on  a  work  of  demoniac 
destruction  and  brutality,  while  the  heavens  rang  with 
these  infectious  melodies,  and  with  the  grimly  signifi- 
cant words: 

"Ah!  qa  ira,  9a  ira,  9a  ira." 

or 

"Oui,  je  suis  sans  culotte,  moi!" 

The  spirit  of  the  times  is  truthfully  mirrored  in  the 
Revolutionary  songs, — both  the  savagery  of  the  peo- 
ple and  the  debonnair  courage  of  the  aristocrats.  Some 
of  the  lyrics  composed  by  the  nobles  in  prison  are  of 
the  sort  to  quicken  the  pulses  for  very  admiration  of 
such  splendid  carelessness. 

They  sang  all  the  vaudeville  melodies  and  popular 
songs  which  they  could  remember,  and  then  they  in- 
vented new  ones.  The  words  of  these  Royalist  lyrics 
were  usually  of  the  order  that  particularly  enraged 
their  gaolers, — exhibiting  the  courtesy,  gay  spirits  and 
utter  indifference  to  discomforts,  dangers  and  inferior 
persons,  which  had  so  incensed  and  piqued  the  Com- 
munists from  the  beginning. 

Pierre  says  that  "One  made  songs  about  the  scanty 
prison  fare;  another  upon  prison  life  in  general." 
One  wrote  a  poem  begging  his  friends  after  he  had 
gone  to  the  guillotine,  to  spill,  "instead  of  tears,  a  few 
flagons  of  Bordeaux  !" 

Their  verses  were  full  of  references  to  their  ap- 
proaching execution,  and  to  the  horrors  of  the  Revo- 


320  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

lution,  but  always  treated  in  a  light,  reckless  and  jest- 
ing vein.  Their  comments  on  their  situation  were  in- 
variably cheerful  or  ironic,  and  most  of  the  lines  seem 
sparkling  with  a  feverish  and  reckless  nonchalance. 
There  is  hardly  a  melancholy  song  among  them  all. 
The  saddest  one  known  to  us  was  written  by  a  mother 
whose  baby  girl  was  born  in  prison. 

One  of  the  most  renowned  Royalist  songs  was 
"Pauvre  Jacques,"  by  the  Marquise  de  Travenet. 
Among  the  composers  of  these  lyrics  we  find  the  names  : 
Ducourneau,  Coittant,  Montjourdain,  Duromeau, 
Ducos,  Fontaine,  Goujon,  etc. 

Among  the  few  songs  common  to  both  Royalists  and 
Revolutionists  were  two  airs  by  Andre  Gretry :  the  first, 
"Richard,  6  mon  roi,"  from  his  opera  "Richard  Coeur 
de  Lion,"  and  the  other  the  melody  of  a  quartet  from 
"Lucile,"  beginning: 

"Oil  peut  on  etre  mieux 

Qu'au  sein  de  sa  famille  ? 
(Where  could  one  be  better 
Than  in  the  bosom  of  one's  family.!*)" 

Both  of  these  melodies  were  sung  at  a  famous  ban- 
quet at  Versailles  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  Revo- 
lution, in  1789,  and  were  immensely  popular  with  ihe 
Court.  But  the  Communists  picked  up  both  songs, 
and  became  particularly  fond  of  "6u  peut  on  etre 
mieux  qu'au  sein  de  sa  famille.?" — singing  it  with 
ferocious  irony,  while  they  hacked  their  way  into  Roy- 


SONGS  OF  THE  GREAT  TERROR     321 

alist  dwellings.  The  satire  of  this  use  of  it  is  so  keen 
that  one  wonders  to  hear  of  the  Sans  Culottes  having 
thought  of  it. 

They  also  appropriated  "Malbrouck  s'en  va-t-en 
guerre,"  though  it  was  closely  associated  with  Marie 
Antoinette,  who  sang  it  often,  and  with  the  little  Dau- 
phin, for  whom  it  had  been  used  as  a  cradle-song  by 
his  Picardy  nurse.  Fitzgerald  says  that  Barras  sang 
"Malbrouck,"  and  Marat  also,  and  that  "Charlotte 
Corday  probably  knew  it  by  heart." 

But  it  is  their  own  characteristic  songs  which  we 
find  most  interesting  for  every  reason, — the  three  great 
lyrics  of  the  Terror,  "La  Carmagnole,"  "Ca  ira,"  and 
the  "Marseillaise." 

"La  Carmagnole"  was  a  dance  song,  which  is  said 
to  have  come  from  Provence.  Some  persons,  Gretry 
among  others,  believed  it  to  have  been  a  sailor's  song 
originating  in  Marseilles ;  others  consider  it  simply  a 
country  dance-air  to  which  patriotic  and  insurgent 
verses  were  set. 

The  original  stanza,  written  in  August,  1792,  was 
something  like  this : 

"The  cannon's  roar  begins  to  sound, 
Make  ready  for  the  battle-ground: 

Now  soldirrs  in  the  grey. 

And   citizens    so    gay. 
All  dance  the  Carmagnole; — 
Hark  to  the  roar,  hark  to  the  roar  I 
All  dance  the  Carmagnole! 


32«  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Hearken  once  more: 
The  cannon's  roar!" 

The  stanza  invented  during  the  Great  Terror, — ^the 
summer  of  1794, — was  of  a  different  sort: 

"Yes,   I'm   a   Sans   Culotte,   am   I, 
To  vex  the  Royalists  I  try; 
Long  live  the  Marseillaise 
And  Breton  laws  and  ways! 
Come !  Dance  the  Carmagnole, 
Hark  to  the  roar,  hark  to  the  roar! — 
Come!  Dance  the  Carmagnole; 
Hearken  once  more: 
The  cannon's  roar!" 

They  also  set  to  the  "Carmagnole"  air  the  famous 
verses  ridiculing  "Madame  Veto,"  as  they  called  Marie 
Antoinette. 

Louis  having  enraged  the  National  Assembly  by  in- 
sisting upon  the  reservation  of  his  right  to  veto  any 
bill  which  he  disliked,  the  people  had  nick-named 
him  "Veto."  The  Queen  was  called  Madame  Veto  to 
the  last.     The  first  stanza  of  the  poem  referring  to 

her  is : 

"Madame  Veto  once  proudly  said 
That  she  all  Paris  would  behead. 
That  stroke,  though,  never  falls, 
Thanks  to  our  cannon-balls. 
Oh,  dance  the  Carmagnole! 
Hark  to  the  roar,  hark  to  the  roar! 
Oh,  dance  the  Carmagnole, 
Hearken  once  more, 
The  cannon's  roar!" 


SONGS  OF  THE  GREAT  TERROR     323 

The  melody  begins  in  this  fashion: 


:t; 


-U z:z 


m 


Oui,      je  •   8ul8  sans     cu    -   lot    -  te,    moi,    Oul, 

^ — I        -^ 


-r 


je   -    BTiia  Sana  cu    -    -    lot   -  le,       mol  I 

It  was  sung,  and  danced  to,  and  marched  to  all  over 

Paris,  and  Royalists  shivered  when  they  heard  echoing 

down  the  street  the  seemingly  innocent  refrain  which 

had  come  to  stand  for  horror  incarnate : 

"Dansons  la  Carmagnole, 
Vive  le  son 
Du  cannon !" 

Almost  more  terrible,  in  its  close  association  with 
every  step  of  the  Terror,  is  "Ca  ira."  This  was  one 
of  the  first  songs  of  the  Revolution,  and  was  sung  by 
the  Parisian  citizens  who  presented  themselves  at  Ver- 
sailles in  1789  to  demand  a  hearing. 

Later  it  became  the  accompaniment  of  some  of  tlie 
most  hideous  deeds  of  the  Red  June  and  July.  The 
following  stanzas  show  the  first  and  last  stages  of  its 
poetic  development,  for,  of  course,  verses  were  added 
constantly  to  express  the  humour  of  the  hour: 

{Sung  in  1789) : 
"Ah,  9a   ira,  9a  ira,  (,-a  ira! 
Aloud  all  day  everyone  repeats  it: 
Ah,  9a  ira,  (ja  ira,  <;-a  ira! 
Though  knaves  be  stubborn  we  shall  succeed  I" 


324  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

(Sung  in  1794): 

"Ah,  9a  ira,  9a  ira,  9a  ira! 
Take   the   proud   aristocrats   and   kill  them  I 
Ah,  qa,  ira,  9a  ira,   ca  ira ! 
The   aristocrats   must   all   be   hanged!" 

* 

The  phrase  "9a  ira"  is  difficult  to  translate.  It 
means,  of  course,  "That  will  go,"  and  was  intended  to 
express  assured  and  insolent  confidence. 

While  in  America  General  Lafayette  had  often 
heard  Benjamin  Franklin  exclaim,  when  asked  for  news 
of  the  Continental  army:  "C'a  ira  (It  will  go) !"  Gen- 
eral Lafayette  liked  the  phrase,  and  one  day  he  re- 
peated it  to  Ladre,  a  street-singer  of  Paris.  Ladre 
built  upon  it  the  first  stanzas  of  the  famous  Revolu- 
tionary marching  song. 

The  melody  was  a  popular  air  called  "Carillon 
National,"  which  had  been  composed  by  Becourt,  a 
drummer  in  the  Opera  Orchestra.  Poor  Queen  Marie 
Antoinette  had  liked  it  immensely  in  the  old  days ! 

The  savage  doggedness  of  the  rhythm  is  eminently 
in  keeping  with  the  words,  and  the  actual  tune  is  most 
infectious  and  full  of  movement : 

etc. 


f^ 


S=J^ 


• ^t — m^- 


?^=s= 


3t 


*i- 


^— *^ 


Ah!    <;a  ■  i  -  ra,    qa  -  i  -  ra,    (;a-i  -  ra!  A-  loud  all    day. 

There  is  a  certain  grim  attraction  about  these  gay 
little  songs  with  their  horrible  pasts.    The  fearful  joy 


SONGS  OF  THE  GREAT  TERROR     325 

in  horrors  which  is  born  of  a  love  for  the  supremely 
dramatic,  and  which  lurks  in  the  souls  of  most  of  us, 
responds  to  the  fateful  melodies  of  the  "Carmagnole" 
and  "^a  ira."  The  "Marseillaise,"  greatest  of  all 
Revolutionary  songs,  has  been  washed  comparatively 
clean  by  some  years  of  honest  patriotism  ;  but  the  other 
frightful  little  l3^rics  have  never  lost  a  blood-stain. 
They  remain  demoniac  and  ghoulish,  with  tinkling 
laughter  on  the  surface,  but  the  weight  of  all  the  guilt 
in  Purgatory  on  their  small  souls.  It  requires  but  a 
narrow  play  of  fancy  to  imagine,  when  we  sing  these 
airs,  that  secretly  they  are  recalling,  with  an  evil  joy, 
the  days  and  nights  of  that  Red  Summer,  when  the 
people  danced  and  sang  the  Carmagnole  among  the 
dead  and  dying,  and  surged  through  Paris  in  terrible, 
relentless  billows  of  humanity  to  the  tune  of  "Ca  ira." 

Other  songs  of  the  Terror  were  "Le  Chant  du  De- 
part" (words  by  Chenier  and  music  by  INIehul),  "Chant 
du  Retour"  and  "Chant  de  Victorie"  (also  by  Mehul), 
Pere  de  I'Univers"  (words  by  Desorgucs  and  music  by 
Gossec),  "Cadet  Rousselle,"  "Fanfare  la  Tulipe," 
"Recit  du  Caporal,"  "Chanson  de  Roland,"  etc. 

The  Communists  were  very  musical  in  an  unbridled 
and  untrained  fashion.  They  listened  with  delight  to 
the  Opera  Comique  artists,  Chenard,  Narbnune, 
Chateaufort,  Vallierc,  etc.,  whom  they  made  sing  for 
them  until  they  were  exhausted. 

On  one  occasion  they  routed  out  the  great  master 


326  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Cherubini,  who  was  living  in  Paris,  to  satisfy  their 
melodious  tastes!  Naumann  says:  "He  was  dragged 
from  his  house  and  paraded  about  the  streets  by  a  band 
of  Sans  Culotte  ruffians,  who  finally  made  him  provide 
music  for  the  accompaniment  of  their  orgies.     .     .     ." 

We  now  come  to  the  "Marseillaise,"  which  is  the 
national  hymn  of  France  to-day, — rather  incongru- 
ously, considering  the  circumstances,  as  Mr.  Fitzger- 
ald has  pointed  out ! 

The  writer  of  both  words  and  music  was  Claude 
Joseph  Rouget  de  Lisle.  He  came  of  a  Royalist  fam- 
ily, was  educated  at  the  Mezieres  School  of  Royal  En- 
gineers, and  was  a  brilliant  soldier. 

At  the  time  when  the  "Marseillaise"  was  composed, 
April,  1792,  he  was  first  lieutenant  in  an  artillery 
regiment  stationed  at  Strassburg.  He  grew  very  in- 
timate with  the  mayor.  Baron  de  Dietrich,  a  delightful 
and  entertaining  Alsatian,  and  spent  much  of  his  time 
with  him  and  his  family. 

On  the  night  of  April  24th,  de  Lisle  was  dining  at 
the  Dietrich  house.  They  were  all  much  excited  over 
the  recent  commands  from  Luckner  for  the  troops 
quartered  at  Strassburg  to  join  him.  In  talking  the 
matter  over,  Dietrich  expressed  his  regret  that  the  men 
had  no  patriotic  song  to  sing  as  they  started  upon 
the  march.  That  de  Lisle  had  a  decided  musical  gift 
was  well  known  to  them  all,  and  suddenly  the  Baron 
was  seized  with  an  inspiration.     Madame  Ritter  de- 


SONGS  OF  THE  GREAT  TERROR     327 

clares  that,  owing  to  the  war  times,  the  fare  was  very 
meagre,  their  dinner  that  night  consisting  of  "a  few 
slices  of  ham  and  garrison  bread."  The  Baron,  after 
a  rueful  glance  at  the  scanty  feast,  asked  Rouget  de 
Lisle  if  he  thought  that  a  bottle  of  rare  Rhine  wine 
could  inspire  him?  And  on  de  Lisle's  begging  to 
know  what  he  meant,  Dietrich  told  him  that  he  should 
have  the  last  bottle  of  wine  in  the  cellar  if  he  would 
try  to  write  a  patriotic  song  on  the  strength  of  it. 
De  Lisle  promised  to  do  his  best.  "The  ladies  ap- 
proved," continues  Madame  Ritter,  "and  sent  for  the 
last  bottle  of  wine  which  the  house  could  boast."  The 
wine  was  drunk  with  appropriate  toasts,  and  de  Lisle 
went  home  to  his  lodgings. 

Then,  with  the  aid  of  violin  and  piano,  paper, 
pens  and  ink,  much  humming,  and  many  hours  of  try- 
ing over  and  rearranging, — he  evolved  a  song.  After 
which,  being  utterly  exhausted,  he  went  to  sleep  with 
his  head  on  his  desk.  Next  morning  he  took  what  he 
had  written  to  the  Baron.  Dietrich  was  delighted, 
and  arranged  to  have  it  sung  publicly  at  an  early  date. 
It  was  sung  by  several  different  persons,  and  created 
enormous  enthusiasm  wherever  it  was  heard.  But  it 
was  only  chance  which  made  it  the  great  national  song 
of  France. 

A  few  months  after  its  composition  it  was  sung  in 
Marseilles,  by  Mirciir.  So  tremendous  an  effect  did  it 
have  upon  the  public  that  it  was  impossible  to  fill  the 


328  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

demands  for  printed  copies.  The  Volunteers  were 
just  leaving  Marseilles  for  their  march  to  Paris,  and 
they  adopted  it  as  their  chanson  de  marche.  So  when 
the  hundreds  of  new  revolutionists  entered  Paris  they 
were  singing  Rouget  de  Lisle's  song. 

It  began  life  under  the  title  "A  War  Song  for  the 
Army  of  the  Rhine ;  dedicated  to  the  Marechal  Luck- 
ner,"  but  it  was  soon  known  as  the  "Hymn  of  the 
Marseillaise,"  and  finally  as  simply  the  Marseillaise. 

With  its  adoption  by  the  Sans  Culottes  Rouget  de 
Lisle  had  nothing  to  do.  He  was  a  strict  Royalist, 
and  not  only  was  cashiered  from  the  army  for  refus- 
ing to  subscribe  to  the  Constitutional  abolition  of  the 
Throne,  but  was  imprisoned  twice,  and  suffered  every 
possible  oppression  at  the  hands  of  the  very  citizens 
who  sang  his  composition  with  so  much  fervour! 

Once  when  he  was  trying  to  escape  capture  among 
the  Jura  Mountains,  the  deadly  signal  of  approach- 
ing imprisonment  and  perhaps  death  was  the  sound 
of  his  own  song  growing  ever  louder  on  the  wind ! 

"What  do  people  mean,"  demanded  that  uncompro- 
mising Royalist,  his  mother,  "by  associating  our 
name  with  the  Revolutionary  hymn  those  brigands 
sing  .f*" 

Rouget  de  Lisle  had  a  hard  and  unappreciated 
career,  and  died  in  1830,  in  the  direst  poverty ;  though 
at  the  very  end  of  his  life  he  was  made  a  member  of 
the  Legion  of  Honour. 


SONGS  OF  THE  GREAT  TERROR     329 

The  best  translation  of  the  original  stanza  of  the 
"Marseillaise"  was  made  by  John  Oxenford: 

"Come,  children  of  your  country,  come: 

New  glory  dawns  upon  the  world! 
Our  tyrants,  rushing  to  their  doom. 

Their  crimson  standards  have  unfurled. 
Already  on  our  plains  we  hear 

The  murmurs  of  a  savage  horde. 

They  threaten  with  the  murd'rous  sword 
Your  comrades  and  your  cliildren  dear. 
Then  up  and  from  your  ranks 

The  hireling  foe  withstand, — 
March  on,  march  on,  his  craven  blood 

Must  fertilise  the  land!" 

There  have  been  great  numbers  of  stories  written 
about  the  composition  of  the  "Marseillaise,"  but  the 
foregoing  seems  to  be  better  substantiated  than  the 
others.  It  has  even  been  asserted  that  Rougct  de  Lisle 
did  not  write  the  song  at  all.  Alexander  Boucher, 
however,  who  put  in  the  strongest  claim  of  authorship, 
had  not  even  taken  the  trouble  to  have  his  dates  ac- 
curate ;  and  no  one  has  ever  believed  his  story  for  a 
moment. 

With  the  Thermldor  reaction,  a  new  song  came  into 
favour, — "Le  Revcil  du  Pcuplc,"  the  words  being  by 
Souriquere  de  Saint  Marc,  and  tlio  music  by  Pierre 
Gaveaux,  conductor  at  the  Opera. 

It  represented  the  close  of  the  Reign  of  Terror,  and 
has  been  called  the  "Marseillaise  of  the  Thermidor." 


330  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

When  it  was  first  sung  it  was  interrupted  by  constant 
shouts  of  "Du  pain!  Du  pain!  (Bread!  Bread!)" — 
one  of  the  early  war-cries  of  the  Revolution.  But 
it  grew  in  favour  as  the  violence  of  public  feeling 
abated. 

The  day  came  when,  on  the  commencement  of  the 
"Marseillaise"  at  the  Opera,  numbers  of  persons 
sprang  to  their  feet  crying:  "We  do  not  want  the 
'Marseillaise'  any  longer.  Give  us  the  'Reveil  du 
Peuple' !" 

Thus  was  the  end,  like  the  beginning,  of  the  Great 
Terror  celebrated  in  song. 

But  the  "Marseillaise,"  unlike  the  other  Revolu- 
tionary airs,  was  a  song  born  to  live.  Since  it  has  been 
accepted  as  the  national  anthem  of  France,  it  has 
nobly  expiated  its  early  life  of  lawlessness  and  crime, 
and  inspired  many  a  noble  effort  of  genuine  courage 
and  patriotism.  Yet  it  will  always  bear  about  it  the 
haunting  memory  of  those  mouths  of  1794. 

"It  received  from  the  circumstances  amid  which  it 
arose,"  wrote  Lamartine,  "an  especial  character  that 
renders  it  at  once  solemn  and  sinister ;  glory  and  crime, 
victory  and  death,  are  mingled  in  its  strains." 

It  is  true  that  with  all  its  fieriness  of  inspiration,  and 
its  magnificence  of  patriotic  feeling,  the  "Marseillaise" 
will  never  be  disassociated  in  our  minds  from  the 
great  national  Tragedy  in  which  it  played  so  dark 
a  part.     Beautiful  and  soul-stirring  it  is,   and  full 


SONGS  OF  THE  GREAT  TERROR     331 

of  that  strong  national  spirit  which  makes  for  great- 
ness, but  to  us,  despite  our  love  for  it,  there  will  always 
be  an  echo  of  violent  voices  in  its  music.  There  will 
always  come  with  it  a  vision  of  crowded  streets  and 
lantern  light  that  too  often  showed  a  blur  of  red  on 
pavement  or  threshold;  or  a  vision  of  sunlight  flash- 
ing in  the  merciful  steel  of  the  guillotine,  and  the 
jeering  countenances  of  the  citizens  and  citoyennes 
who  had  come  to  see  the  thing  well  done ;  a  vision 
painted  in  sombre  and  lurid  hues, — the  red  of  rage  and 
the  black  of  tragedy,  a  vision  of  the  mighty,  marvel- 
lous, thrilling  pitiless  Terror. 

Of  all  the  descriptions  of  the  "Marseillaise"  ever 
written  there  is  none  so  fine  as  that  of  Heinrich  Heine. 
His  sensitive  appreciation  seized  upon  the  vivid  qual- 
ities of  the  great  song,  and  inspired  him  with  images 
and  phrases  such  as  only  he  knew  how  to  combine. 
And  this  is  what  he  wrote  in  his  own  inimitable  style, 
the  purest  prose  extant : 

"A  strong  joy  surges  over  me  as  I  sit  writing! 
Music  resounds  under  my  window,  and  in  the  elegiac 
rage  of  its  large  melody  I  recognise  that  hymn  with 
which  the  handsome  Barbaroux  and  his  companions 
once  greeted  the  city  of  Paris.  What  a  song!  It 
thrills  me  with  fiery  delight,  it  kindles  within  me  the 
glowing  star  of  enthusiasm  and  the  swift  rocket  of 
desire.  Swelling,  burning  torrents  of  song  rush  from 
the  heights  of  freedom,  in  streams  as  bold  as  those 


332  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

with  which  the  Ganges  leaps  from  the  heights  of  the 
Himalayas !  I  can  write  no  more, — this  song  intoxi- 
cates me.  Louder  and  nearer  advances  the  powerful 
chorus : 

'Aux  armes  citoyensl'" 


«««i 


AN   AFTER-WORD 


AN    AFTER-WORD 


IT  has  been  the  author's  effort  to  indicate  in  the  pre- 
ceding pages  the  men  who  have  in  the  most  markea 
degree  influenced  the  development  of  song.  In  such  an 
attempt,  where  personal  opinion  and  taste  play  so 
large  a  part  in  the  choice  of  composers,  a  writer  is 
inevitably  the  recipient  of  much  criticism  and  censure. 
This  fact  leads  the  author  to  avail  herself  of  the  pres- 
ent opportunity  to  state  that,  in  most  cases,  she  has 
taken  pains  to  substantiate  her  own  judgment  by  the 
views  of  critics  and  historians  whose  standpoints  can- 
not be  questioned.  In  regard  to  such  departures  as  the 
inclusion  among  the  song-makers  such  men  as  Lully, 
Stradella  and  John  of  Fornsete,  the  author  considers 
that  she  will  require  no  justification  beyond  a  careful 
study,  first  of  the  works  of  these  composers,  and  sec- 
ond, of  the  lyrical  productions  immediately  following 
their  periods  of  activity. 

The  development  of  music,  and  especially  of  lyric 
music,  has  been  a  matter  of  such  subtle  and  slow  grada- 
tions that  the  task  of  particularising,  enumerating, 
and  selecting  the  dominant  factors  in  the  progress, 
has  presented  many  difficulties.     The  outline  here  sub- 


336  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

mitted  is  the  result  of  much  research  and  more  consider- 
ation, but  makes  no  claim  nor  pretense  of  covering  the 
ground  either  adequately  or  fully.  If  the  sign-posts 
here  pointed  out  should  lead  some  student  into  a  far 
more  comprehensive  and  thorough  understanding  of 
the  history  of  Song  than  it  has  been  the  author's  privi- 
lege to  achieve,  the  aim  and  end  of  this  book  will  have 
been  more  than  fulfilled. 

It  remains  only  for  the  author  to  acknowledge  the 
help  which  she  has  received  from  the  following 
books : 

Dictionary  of  Music  and  Musicians  (Grove). 

Cyclopjedia  of  Music  and  Musicians  (Scribner's). 

Biographie  Universelle  des  Musiciens  (F.  J.  Fetis). 

The  Encyclopaedias. 

Century  Dictionary. 

General  History  of  Music  (Dr.  Charles  Burney). 

General  History  of  Music  (John  Hawkins). 

History  of  Music  (William  Chapell). 

History  of  Music  (Hope). 

History  of  Music  (J.  E.  Matthews). 

History  of  Music  (George  Hogarth). 

History  of  Music  (Emil  Naumann). 

Lives  of  Troubadours  (Ida  J.  Farnell). 

Troubadours  and  Courts  of  Love  (Rowbotham). 

Troubadours  at  Home  (Justin  H.  Smith). 

The  Troubadours  (F.  HuefFer). 

Troubadours  and  Trouveres  (H.  W.  Preston). 


AN  AFTER-WORD  337 

History    of    Proven9al    Poets     (Fauriel.    Trans. 
Adler). 

Anciens  Poetes  Francois  (Fauchet). 

French  Literature  (Saintsbury). 

Anthology   of   French   Song    (Henry   Carrington, 
Dean  of  Rocking). 

Anthologie  Francoise  (Ed.  Meusnier  de  Querlon). 

Histoire  du  Chatelain  de  Coucy  (Ed.  Crapelet). 

Ancient  English  Metrical  Romances  (Joseph  Rit- 
son). 

Memoirs  Historiques  sur   Raoul    de    Coucy  (Jean 
Benjamin  de  la  Borde). 

Chansons  du  Chatelain  de  Coucy  (Ed.  par  Michel 
et  Peme). 

Description  du  Chateau  Coucy  (Violett-le-Duc). 

Histoire  du  Lied  (Edouard  Scheere). 

Walther  von  der  Vogelweide:  two  articles  In  "La 
Guide  Musical"  (May  de  Rudder). 

How  Music  Developed  (W.  J.  Henderson). 

Music  in  England  (Frederic  Louis  Ritter). 

Harmonistes  du  XH.^  et  XIII.^  Siecles   (Charles 
Edmond  Coussemaker). 

History  of  France  (Guizot). 

History  of  France    (Crowe). 

Histoire  de  Navarre  (Favy). 

Histoire  de  Blanche  de  Castille  (Berger). 

CEuvrcs  Completes  du  Trouvere  Adam  de  La  Halle 
(Charles  Edmond  Coussemaker). 


338  MAKERS  OF  SONG 

Theatre  Franjais  au  Moyen  Age  (Monmerque  et 
Michel). 

History  of  Spanish  Literature  (George  Ticknor). 

Recovery  of  Spain  (Henry  Edward  Watts). 

Study  in  National  Music  (Carl  Engel). 

Altdeutsches  Liederbuch  (Boehme). 

Essai  sur  la  Musique  Ancienne  et  Moderne  (De  la 
Borde). 

Hungarian  Song  Album  (Ed.  Madame  Berger  Hen- 
derson ) . 

Des   Bohemiens   et   de   leur  Musique   en   Hongrie 
(Franz  Liszt). 

Essai  sur  I'Histoire  de  la  Musique  en  Italie  (Le 
Comte  Gregorie  Orlov  ) . 

Music  of  the  Seventeenth  Century  (C.  Hubert  H. 
Parry  ) . 

Lully,  Homme  d' Affaires  (Edmond  Radet). 

La  Musique  Scandinave  avant  de  XIX.^  Siecle 
(article  in  "Revista  Musicale"  by  Albert  Soubies). 

Histoire  de  la  Musique  et  de  ses  Effets  (Pierre  Bour- 
delot :  Ed.  Bonnet ) . 

Delle  Opere  di  Alessandro  Stradella  (Angelo  Cate- 
lani). 

Sketches  of  Music  (Eastcott). 

Supplemente  Enthaltend  Quellen  zu  Handel's  Wer- 
ken:  No.  3  (Stradella)  (Ed.  Friedrich  Chrys- 
lander. ) 

Beauties  of  Purcell  (Ed.  John  Clarke) . 


AN  AFTER-WORD  339 

Purcell,  in  Series  of  "Masters  in  Music." 
Purcell  (William  H.  Cummings). 
Stories  of  Famous  Songs  (S.  J.  A.  Fitzgerald). 
Notes  sur  les  Chansons  de  la  periode  Revolutionnaire 
article  in  "Le  Revue  Musicale"  (Constant  Pierre). 


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